The 'Pirate' and His Sea
by Nefarious Matchbox
Summary: A Nick Fury/Percy Jackson pairing story. Slash! (obviously) May or may not be a one-shot, favorite, follow and review for more chapters! "Every pirate must have his sea, so why not Nick Fury? His is just a little, well, special..." Rated T, for maybe violence, swearing, innuendos (not too bad though) May feature the rest of the Avengers! (and others from PJO)
1. Chapter 1

**AN - So, I've always been a big fan of Avenger crossovers, and I haven't seen a lot of Nick Fury slash crossover relationship thingies. I was... actually I can't remember what I was doing to come up with idea, but I sat down in front of the computer with this in my head. There's a few Percy Jackson/Avenger crossovers, and I wondered what Percy/Nick would be like. I tried my hand at it, and this is what happened. Hope you like it!**

**Quick note: Nick Fury is forty five-ish and Percy is thirty two or something. Because of Percy's contact with gods and he is half-god anyway, he'll look younger, and I've always thought Nick looks pretty young too.**

**Disclaimer - Don't own anything.**

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Fury was tired. He'd a long day, even by his crazy standards. A total of three cars had blown up, two helicopters had to be pulled from the fleet for repairs that he couldn't remember, a stupid rookie had gotten himself captured in Australia and god knows how much paper work _that_ takes, the Avengers had somehow demolished half a suburb (Stark had suspiciously muttered something about Santa's with rocket launching euphoniums and tequila) and _his car had stalled on the way home_.

Now, he just wanted to kick back and relax, maybe with some whiskey or beer and a movie or a book. A shower and his couch called for him, along with a good night's sleep. Yes, a good night's sleep sounded great, he thought as he climbed up the stairs to his flat. As he messed with the keys for the door, he inhaled the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip banana muffins, and decided to put off that shower for a few minutes. He knew that the muffins tasted just as divine as they smelled, and their enticing calls were just as loud as that of the couch.

Stepping inside, Nick kicked off his shoes and hung his trench coat on the antique coat rack standing by the door. His shoulder holster went into the small trunk hidden in the wall underneath the hall table, but he kept the gun at his hip to put it in its place in his bedside table. The smell of muffins intensified as he made his way to the kitchen, and the sound of humming accompanied it. Recognizing it as the song 'It's Great to be King' from the Lion King, he leaned in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the cheerful figure who was idling across the tiles.

"You look like you're in a good mood," he said. His lips twitched ever so slightly, coming out of their usual frown that always present at work except for a few choice moments, as he watched the black haired man in front of him jerk at his words. He knew he hadn't really scared him - the man was far too good for that - but he had the habit of subconsciously tuning everything that wasn't a threat out while in the kitchen.

"You look like you're in a pretty crappy one yourself," the man replied sarcastically as he turned to face Nick, his breath-taking green eyes meeting the director's. He vaguely gestured with the glass of what Nick guessed was rum and coke towards the tray of cooling - _and blue_\- muffins on the counter. "Want one?"

Nick rolled his eyes and slid past his friend - no, he was more than that - and grabbed a muffin. Biting into the still warm pastry, he hummed appreciatively as the gooey chocolate and soft spices of cinnamon and banana dough filled mouth. "Why'd you decide to make these?" He asked the man across from him.

He shrugged. "Just felt like it. So, Nickie, just how much shit happened today?" Nick sighed at the nickname but put down his muffin and leaned forward to put his arms around the green-eyed man. Burying his nose into the man's long tanned neck, he inhaled slowly, and replied, "Too much, Percy."

His long-time friend and lover, Perseus _("Call me Percy, dammit!"_) Jackson, rolled his eyes and put his free arm over Nick's shoulder, the other still harbouring his precious rum and coke. "Yeah, yeah. Let me guess, the lovely Tony Stark was involved somewhere in that shit?" Nick's tired groan was the only answer he needed, and with an exasperated sigh Percy led Nick out of the kitchen and into the living room and sat him down on the couch. Feeling the comfortable leather beneath him, Nick reluctantly let go of Percy and flopped down in a show of unashamed pleasure that he only had alone with Percy. He could hear Percy's footsteps as he left the living room, went into the kitchen, and returned a minute later, only to press a cold beer bottle into his hand and shove his half-finished muffin into his mouth.

Nick bit down on the muffin and popped open the beer bottle with the ever present bottle opener on the coffee table, watching Percy bend over and fiddle with the DVD player, no doubt putting in some random movie. Nick took a moment to enjoy the view Percy's position was giving him - those tight grey jeans hugged just right and left nothing to his imagination (not that he hadn't seen it before, hah) - then took a deep pull from the bottle. God, his boyfriend was the best; a beer, his delicious blue chocolate chip muffins, a movie, and a comfortable couch after a horrible day. What more could he ask for?

Well, he amended, for Stark to stop his bitching and the Avengers to stop blowing stuff up and for people to stop attacking America (was the world too much to ask? Probably.) and for rookies not to be so stupid, and the list went on and on and _on_... But as his boyfriend, his gorgeous and badass and unbearably awesome boyfriend, settled down on the couch with him, leaning between his legs with his back on Nick's chest and his unruly black hair under his chin, he decided he was pretty happy with this too.

They lay there in content silence for a few minutes, watching the opening to some movie he'd seen a hundred times but Percy was still obsessed about (_cough 300 cough_) because of its attempt at ancient mythology and history - until Percy began squirming. Biting back a sigh, Nick let him sit up. Staying still wasn't easy for an ADHD, world-saving demigod hero with dyslexia, not that he particularly minded. All those hero aspects made for a nice match with the Director of SHIELD.

"What did you do today, other than bake?" Nick asked after another sip from his beer, watching the characters run about madly on screen distractedly. His boyfriend shrugged and stretched like a cat, his shirt riding up a bit to expose a slice of muscled, tan stomach. Nick watched it shamelessly as his lover spoke, "Mmm, went monster hunting down in L.A. for a bit with Nico, then swung by San Francisco with Blackjack for a few hours. I heard something about the Hunters stopping there through the grapevine, but it was just a dead end." Percy pouted (though he'd never admit it) at the mention of not meeting the elusive Hunters, none of which Nick had been told much about.

"So what did you do to stay there for a few hours?" Nick put his half-empty beer down on the coffee table, taking his hip gun holster off as well, as Percy cracked his neck to get rid of some kink. A smooth expanse of skin flashed teasingly at him from the joint of his neck and shoulder, and Nick swallowed. Percy's answer drifted over his head as he watched his stunning boyfriend shrug. "Played paintball with the party ponies. It was interesting, to say the least."

"I bet it was," Nick murmured, sitting up and shuffling towards Percy, who looked at him for a moment then smirked. He reached out and grabbed the hand Nick offered and let him pull him up from the couch. His beer forgotten and the movie somehow put on mute, Nick decided that that shower could wait a while.

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**AN - That actually went a little farther than I expected. Oops. Oh well, it should fit in T rated, so whatever. If enough people like this I'll make it a mini-series, either of one-shots (connected or not) or it has a mini-plot, which might be kind of hard but I'll try.**

**-Edited 2015/01/24-**


	2. Chapter 2 - How Fury Met Him

**AN - As a reward to all those awesome people who reviewed, followed and favorited, here is the second part that you were waiting for (and that I had fun writing!) Alright, I've had some questions, so I'll answer those now. I've decided that: ****Percy is 33, and Fury is 45!**** Also, how this series is going to work is that I'll have a group of connected one-shots with maybe a bit of plot. **

**I want to make a scene where all the Avengers meet Percy and find out he's Fury's boyfriend (obviously), and I have a bit of a plan. Some characters will have met Percy before said meeting (maybe Clint, cause he's a SHIELD agent, as an example) and what I'm going to do is have a chapter for those things. This chapter is: HOW FURY MET HIM. So, how Fury met Percy. Let's say as an example, Thor meets him somehow before, and it'll be HOW THOR MET HIM etc. It's up to you, the readers, to decide if you want every character to have a 'how they met him' chapter, or if they should just meet him for the first time when the Avengers assemble/find out about Fury's boyfriend. I can work with either option, so go ahead and let me know.**

**NICK FURY AND PERCY JACKSON WILL HAVE EITHER A F_IVE, SIX OR SEVEN YEAR_ RELATIONSHIP WHEN THEY MEET THE AVENGERS (or they meet him) _DECIDE WHICH ONE_. THE AGES WILL STAY THE SAME IN THE END, IT JUST CHANGES HOW OLD THEY WERE WHEN THEY MET.**

**Anyway, this was fun to write. Hope you enjoy it. :D**

**Warning: SLASH (MxM) **

**Disclaimer: Don't own (unfortunately) :P**

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HOW FURY MET HIM

The day Nick Fury met Perseus Jackson was an odd one. The director of SHIELD had decided to tag along on the recruitment of the man Jon Folosky. They found themselves approaching him in a bar Folosky visited on occasion, the Golden Fleece. He had never been to it himself, because of its remote location in the easy-going, slightly removed corner district of New York. Folosky would be an excellent addition to SHIELD if they could convince (or threaten) him to join, with his ex-marine status and experience in the field.

When they entered the Golden Fleece(he wasn't sure if that was a sissy name or not) Folosky was seated at a table in the corner, next to the bar. He was blonde haired and blue eyed with a sturdy build, and was nursing a tall glass of what he supposed was beer. He and Coulson – who he had personally chosen to accompany him – walked over silently and took a seat across from him.

Folosky glanced up, considered them, then looked back at his glass. Raising it, he paused before taking a sip and said softly, "Be on your way, gentlemen. I'm not interested in whatever the government has to offer."

Coulson glanced around them as he relaxed into the chair with practiced ease, the picture of an easy going friend visiting another. "Are you sure? We might have a proposal that will peak your curiosity." Neither Fury nor Coulson bothered to deny the fact that they were from the government; Folosky would recognize the lie.

Folosky slammed his glass down abruptly and glared at them, blue eyes churning furiously. "I'm not interested," he said flatly, and stood from the table in a rush. Something in his gaze made Fury sigh – he knew that look. Folosky was done with the war and combat because it had broken him long ago, and he had no urge to fix it. It was rare for SHIELD to be able to recruit those kinds of people, and he knew that Folosky wouldn't give. Normally he would not give up so easily, but Folosky wasn't _particularly _necessary, and he didn't need broken people.

"Don't bother trying with him again," a voice said, and caused both SHIELD director and agent to turn to the bar. A young man with black hair and eyes the color of a churning green sea leveled an easy-going smile at them, cleaning out a glass absentmindedly. He was obviously the bartender of the place, and couldn't be more than 27, but Fury was a little more concerned about how he had not heard the man come around the bar. He hadn't been there when they walked in, and he would notice any person shuffling about seven feet away.

"Folosky's done with all things government and combat related," the unnamed man continued, walking around the bar with two bottles in hand and approaching their table. Coulson and Fury stiffened a bit, wary of both his words and any threatening movement, but the man just rolled his eyes and set the bottles down on the table. Taking Folosky's empty glass he strolled back to the bar and gave them an easy grin. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. There's enough odd things around here that everyone knows not to talk. I mean, our resident Spider-man beat down mutant lizards and all that a while ago, a little chat between feds in my bar is _nothing_."

Nick and Fury didn't trust easily, but something about the man made them blinked and for some reason not shoot him down. He disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the two slightly miffed agents with two bottles of excellent scotch.

* * *

It took Fury three days and the Avengers demolishing a three-story laboratory to open the bottle of scotch he'd received from the strange bartender. It was a strange bottle - the sleeve was grey with an owl with eerie yellow eyes on it. The curling letters above spelled out: Ambrosia Brewery, and below was what he guessed was the batch of alcohol, The Wise Man's words mean Nothing. It was odd, but after cracking it open and going through his paranoid ritual of testing it for every poison and drug known to man, he took a hesitant sip. It was fantastic. It burned its way down his throat and brought a taste to the tissue of his mouth that he'd never felt before - it felt ancient and strong, like something a war general would drink. But it had a hint of something, of some intrigue that made him feel curious and thirsting for more, and it gave the scotch a quality of refined wisdom, if that was possible.

Fury drank a quarter of the bottle that night, and tucked it away into his cabinet for some other day. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the taste lingered in his mouth for hours after, and he believed - however illogically - that the scotch had something to do with its mystical namesake, ambrosia, the food of the gods.

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It took Fury a week and a half and an explosion in the chemistry wing to send him off to the same bar as before, the Golden Fleece. He slipped past the front door and hoped, for some reason, that the same bartender wouldn't be on duty.  
He was. Oh well. Maybe he'd learn his name. Striding forward purposefully and ignoring the eyebrow the bartender raised his way, he said, "Something strong. Now."  
The bartender wasn't offended by his rudeness and just rolled his eyes. He went to the beverage cabinet and reached for a bottle set off to the side with a dozen others of the same make. He considered it, then shrugged and went back over to Fury. Eyeing the bottle that was put down as the bartender went to get a glass, he saw it was different than the bottle he had at home. This one's sleeve was a golden yellow, and had a golden-manned horse pulling a chariot decorated in gold suns. The same brand was there - the Ambrosia Brewery - but there was a different label to go with the image; Festivities of the Sun. It was yet again an odd label, but if the last bottle was good, and he had asked for something even stronger, then this one should not disappoint.

When the bartender poured him a glass, he silently marveled at the colour - it looked like someone had taken the sun and put it through a liquefier, with small bubbles lazily rising through the alcohol. He grabbed the glass and swallowed half of it, a second too fast for the bartender to say whatever he was going to. Immediately his throat constricted as his mouth exploded and his gorge clenched. It was liquid fire roaring through his veins, and damn did it feel good after a crazy day.

"Ah," the bartender said ruefully as he watched him hold in a faint cough, "I was going to warn you about that. The Festivities has that affect for the first few swallows."

"Only the first few?" Fury managed to regain his metaphorical feet and raised his single eyebrow sarcastically.

The bartender gave him a sheepish grin. It made his green eyes sparkle, Fury mused, like dew on fresh coastal grass - wait, what? The man continued on without noticing Fury's sudden mental yelp. "Well, most people can only handle three glasses before passing out, and a lot are completely buzzed after one and a bit. " His grin turned a bit mischievous. "Surprisingly it doesn't have too bad of a hangover - for some people. For others they wake up and it's hell's pub party in their head. It's gotten a lot of couples together too." His face turned thoughtful. "One night stands lasting longer and all that."

Hmm. One night stands, that was a thought he wouldn't mind, not with that man standing across from him. But was a one night stand too short?... Did he really just think that? _Shoot me now,_ he thought, mortified. Nick Fury hadn't been unsure of his sexuality since he was seventeen, where several flings quickly confirmed the fact that yes, he was gay. He had accepted it, and could enjoy a fine view as well as the next person, but it had never been like this. Well, maybe it had, but he hadn't really felt the burning desire _to wrap this man up in his arms, drag him home, offer a beer and dinner and keep him_. Like he did right now, with the man that he had only just met.

Damn. Maybe the alcohol really was getting to him.

But despite his doubts, he continued to return to the bar, and it became his every Tuesday evening haunt.

It was on his fourth visit that he even bothered to ask the man's name. It was an interesting interaction.

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"So," Fury said while nursing his second bottle of Festivities (he was rather fond of the brew), "what's your name? I can't just call you the bartender can I?"

The black-haired man shot him an indulgent smile that said he knew exactly what he was going at but answered anyway. "Percy Jackson."

"Nick," Fury responded. He was interested in this strange bartender named Percy Jackson, but not enough that he would tell him his last name. "Well, I would buy you a drink, Percy, but..." He waved a hand to the other man's position behind the bar.

Percy - he liked that name - raised an eyebrow and settled down on a stool across the bar, a bottle in hand. "Are you asking me out, Nick?"  
"Of course," he said with a straight face, brown eye staring into swirling green eyes.

Percy smirked. "I close early tomorrow, at five. You can pick me up here."

And the rest was history.

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**AN - So if anyone has questions, leave them in a review or PM me. I always try to answer them as quickly and as well as possible! Sorry if Nick was OOC there - it's annoying to get him into the 'let's have a first date' mood and mindset. It's so different than the movie or anything XD Hope you liked the bar (hopefully you got the reference to it's name) and all the beers. Obviously they're of Percy's own creation, but yeah. **

**I hope it satisfied. Let me know of your opinions! Thanks for all the support**

**Matches :D**


	3. Chapter 3- How Clint Met Him & Found Out

**AN - Hello everyone, I return and I bear another chapter! My exams are almost done (one more on Tuesday) so soon I should be able to post a lot more, hopefully. This one is how Clint met Percy and found out about Fury and Percy's relationship. It was easier to put these two together, so bonus time ;D I liked this chapter, and it was lots of fun!**

**-Note: The Golden Fleece is found at 174 Bourbon Avenue (it's a made up road, by Hudson Street.) I had to go on Google maps to figure out where to put the bar, and even then I probably failed. I live in Canada (whoo, Canada!) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. A pity. **

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HOW CLINT MET HIM &amp; HOW CLINT FOUND OUT

Clint wasn't big on rumours. He generally found them annoying (but some were entertaining) and tended to ignore them. But when he heard the gossip that was running wild on the helicarrier, he didn't know if he should laugh or stare.  
Apparently Nick Fury was seeing someone. Which was both a ridiculous and frightening idea.  
Ridiculous, because who would Nick Fury pair up with? He was sarcastic, critiquing, ruthless, pitiless and probably compassion-less. But it was for those same reasons it was frightening - what kind of person could put up with him?  
Normally he'd go to Natasha and discuss the rationality of said rumour, but the female spy was away in Indonesia on some mission and he was left to stew alone.  
At the moment he was crouched on the balcony railing of an abandoned building, peering rather moodily through a pair of binoculars at the man he'd been told to watch. Apparently he was the brother of some mafia-don S.H.I.E.L.D was trying to make friends with, and some other rivals gangs were underhanded enough to attack family not involved in the underworld. So, as a sign of good will, S.H.I.E.L.D put a shadow on him for protection. Clint got that, he totally understood. But why did it have to be_ him?_

Grumbling under his breath, he watched as his target – no, not target, object of _babysitting_ – messed with his phone as he walked, not paying attention to the shady alley's he was walking by or any of his surroundings really. Clint probably wouldn't have either, except for the fact that he'd been chewed out by Fury often enough about getting lazy on observation jobs, and that was the only reason he saw the dark form that shot out of the alley, snatched up the man and dragged him into the shadows, all in a split second.

If Clint hadn't been watching, he would have the man has just disappeared.

And of course seeing your mission objective _vanish_ from the street and into a potentially – probably - hostile area banished all laziness Clint could have had and he leapt down the streets below, making a bee-line for the alley while contacting Fury.

"What is it, Barton?" It sounded like Fury was angry about being interrupted – he probably was in a meeting again – and was in no mood for jokes.

"Someone just apprehended the target – _objective_, sir," the archer said as he skidded around the corner to the alleyway, in time to see the man being dragged around into another back lane farther down. He hurried about him, checking that his bow was in working order as he went.

"Well get to it," Nick growled. "You were given this job for a reason, so do it right. Now, where are you?"

"Uh," Clint dashed after the struggling man and his captor, and jumped over a garbage can the kidnapper had knocked over to slow him down, "somewhere in the back lanes by Bourbon Avenue and Hudson Street. I should be fine. Talk to you later, Fury."

"Bourbon Avenue?" Fury sounded stumped. "Wait a moment, Barton -" But Clint had already ended the message and lunged at his objective and the man who was pinning him down. A quick punch to the solar plexus had him reeling and Clint managed to snatch his target away safely. A quick glance confirmed the fact that, yes, the man was fine, and no, because he _was_ fine he wasn't allowed to do any major damage to the kidnapper.

With a sigh he cracked his knuckles and got ready to beat the man down a bit – nothing too serious – and was preparing to pounce when suddenly the back door of an establishment flew open and a man with black hair shocking green eyes glanced around the scene. He had a bin full of empty beer bottles, and the sounds of a bar were heard from the building inside. He was probably a bartender or something. All the man had time to do was blink then the kidnapper had scrambled towards him, pulling out a butterfly knife and pointing it at him.

"You take a step closer and I'll shank this guy!" The man snarled, exposing yellow teeth and ugly gums – probably from smoking. Clint wrinkled his nose at the thug. Ew.

"Huh." The bartender blinked. "I haven't been held hostage in a while. You're holding the knife wrong," he told the trembling thug.

"What? The fuck are you going on about, moron?" The thug said, obviously confused and baffled by the lack of fear in the bartender's eyes. "Can't you see that I have a knife? I could shank you! Any second now!"

The bartender shrugged and continued on with his casual conversation. "Mm, well, you might, but not holding the knife like _that._ Because if you do, _this_ can happen." Whirling, he snapped a leg up faster than the thug could follow and _almost_ faster than Clint could. It neatly collided with the man's hand, and his poor grip sent it spinning and leaving a shallow gash on his cheek as it flew by. The bartender followed up with a seamlessly-flowing kick to the chin that sent the thug head-over-heels and slamming painfully against a dumpster a foot away.

The black-haired man regarded the now unconscious man contemplatively. "Maybe I used a bit too much force," he murmured, putting down the bin that he still held. He brushed down his apron and black vest and turned to regard Clint. "Is he alright?" He asked.

"Huh?" Clint glanced down at the man he was watching and realized he had fainted at his feet. The excitement had been too much, obviously. "He'll be fine, just fainted. Who are you?" He addressed the man cautiously. His movements had been those of a fighter, and not just any, but an experienced one that had taken on serious situations and came out on top. Maybe a war veteran? He didn't look like a regular soldier, though…

The man laughed, ignoring the tension in Clint's question. "Oh, I'm just a bartender who works at this little place." He motioned to the one he'd come out of.

Clint arched an eyebrow. "Just a bartender?"

"A bartender with past experiences," the man admitted, rubbing his head sheepishly. "Do you have a comm or something to call your superiors, or do you need a phone?"

Clint stiffened at his words. How had he known he had superiors, or a comm? This man knew he was with the government, somehow. Seeing his suspicion, the bartender hurried to put his hands up in the air. "I know people," he was quick to reassure, "and I've seen your… _branch_ of government. Don't freak out, please. I've already knocked out one person and it's only," he paused to check a watch made of a strange bronze metal that piqued Clint's interest, "ten a.m."

He couldn't be sure of the man's truthfulness, but it didn't seem like he was lying, and to contact HQ wasn't a danger. Reaching up, he pressed the comm in his ear and murmured, "This is Agent Hawkeye, requesting body retrieval and a pick-up at this location." There was a muttered affirmative from the secretary, and Clint was quick to reach down and grab the unconscious man. Throwing him over his shoulder, he eyed the bartender, who was idly inspecting the scuffs on his combat boots. How odd for a bartender to wear combat boots…

"Agent Barton," he said reluctantly, extending his hand to the bartender. The other man looked slightly surprised, but strode forward and shook it. His hold was firm and friendly, but with an undercurrent of strength that made Clint shiver. He hadn't been able to tell until now, but looking at the bartender, he could feel raw _power_ rolling off him in waves. He felt lucky that they were on somewhat friendly terms, because if that power was directed at him in a hostile manner, he didn't know how well he'd hold up.

"Percy Jackson," he said cheerfully. "I work at the Golden Fleece. If you're ever up for a drink, feel free to drop by." He gestured to the building that he'd come from.

"Uh…" Clint didn't get invited for drinks by total strangers often, so he was a bit stumped on how to reply. Percy didn't seem to mind, just waving a hand and grinning endearingly, then disappearing into the door of the bar. "Say hello to Nick Fury for me!" was the last he said before he was gone.

Clint blinked. What just happened? He rubbed his head where he felt a slight headache come on, and realized he probably looked like Fury right now. Shaking his head, he walked towards where a discreet grey van rolled up a few feet away. Whatever. He'd search up this 'Percy Jackson' and if he was real, then he'd take him upon those drinks.

* * *

It appeared that Percy (Perseus, actually, but he couldn't blame the guy for using a nickname) Jackson was indeed real, and was indeed affiliated with .E.L.D. somehow. He had been unsure of why he had had to go through almost a thousand protective fire walls to get to his file - it was one of the most protected he'd seen - but when he got to the documents he gulped at the bartender's background info. No wonder the man had seemed terrifying – he _was_. Because, come on, _how_ many twelve years old escape a gun wielding kidnapper with what appeared to be a baseball bat (man those pictures were fuzzy; cellphone cameras sucked)? And going from North America to Greece in a day or two, both in crazy situations like massive sink holes and earthquakes while still a teenager? He really did know 'people.'

But, heck, his day had been crazy, and he _really_ wanted that drink now, so he went back to the same bar he'd found those two weeks ago, and stepped in. It was cozy, and comfortable, the kind of place he'd want to return to every Friday or so, and was popular if the crowded tables and laughing people meant something. Going up to the bar, he settled on a stool and asked the bartender on duty, who wasn't Percy, (obviously) "Is Percy in?"

The man snorted and tugged on the black bandana holding his red-haired shaved-at-the-sides mullet back. "Yeah, he's in. He owns the place – he's _always_ here. Just out back for a minute or two." The bartender – and Clint wasn't sure how Percy had hired this man, because he seemed more fit to be running around with a metal bat and motorcycle, not serving tequila – glanced over his jeans and black dragon t-shirt dubiously, and met his eyes. The others were an icy grey that seemed to shoot straight into Clint's soul, but whatever he saw must have satisfied him (somehow) because he motioned him through with a jerk of his thumb. "You're cool. Just, don't freak," he said with a grin.

Clint was confused, but the man had already turned away to prepare a drink so he slipped past the counter and through the storage room to the door to the back alley. Biting back the amusement of seeing the other man in the same place he'd met him, he pushed open the door just in time to get an eyeful of Percy contentedly kissing someone – someone _very_ familiar. Someone with chocolate skin and an eye patch and a trench coat and _oh shit Percy was kissing his boss._

Later Clint would vehemently deny his freaked out squeal of _'Jesus shit!'_ but it was pretty understandable because Nick Fury, the most asexual and unlikely to be in a relationship person he could think of was making out with the (agreeably handsome) black-haired bartender with the crazy taekwondo moves, and _dammit_ he was glaring at him now. In the present time, all Clint could say was that he was happy he had just put his hands up and went back inside to order that drink (and several others) because that glare could _kill_. Oh, and that those rumors were now not ridiculous, but just frightening. Very frightening, because Percy Jackson was very frightening, and in the next couple of years all the things he heard and saw only confirmed that opinion. He did not regret learning about Fury's relationship (because now he had something to hold over Natasha's head, _ha!_) and he did not regret keeping quiet about it (except for teasing Nick about it occasionally, but he never told anyone because it wasn't to him to tell) but he _did_ regret how he had found out about the two's relationship.

Well, only a little. Because damn would that make for a good story once the other's found out about it on their own.

And all those firewalls around Percy's files? Yeah, those made sense now.

* * *

**AN - Bwahaha, writing those last paragraphs were fun. I had fun making Clint squeal like a little girl. Just in case anyone took his reaction the wrong way, Clint is not homophobic, he's just surprised that Nick is making out with the small pub bartender with the martial arts experience in the back alley, that's all XD **

**Also, as a little Easter Egg I made it so that Percy's bar is kind of a safe haven for demigods (like the mullet bartender) and that might be a bit important later on, but whatever. **

**I HAVE AN IMPORTANT QUESTION! DO NOT LEAVE THE PAGE YET! Do you want people like Loki and Maria Hill included? If you want others feel free to request, and I'll do it if I can (if I can't I'm sorry DX) I'm thinking of adding 'The Hunters of Artemis Met Fury' or 'Clarisse Met Fury' or other PJO characters find out and come to threaten Fury to my list, but not sure if I want to. Support will help me decide. **

**I'm still not sure if I'm going to make some people only find out when the Avengers find out (so it would be their first time, but Clint and a few others would already know) but I'm kind of leaning towards Percy meeting everyone beforehand. Leave your opinion in a review please. _  
_**

**Thanks for reading, Matches :D**

**UP NEXT: Bruce meets Percy!**


	4. Chapter 4 - How Bruce Met Him

**AN - Hello everyone, and I'm back with that promised Bruce meets Percy fic! Also, I've had lots of feedback about who to include, and I've decided at the moment to do the Avengers (obviously), Agent Coulson, Loki, Poseidon meets Fury and Fury meets Nico. I'm considering doing Thalia/Annabeth meets Fury and Maria Hill meets Percy. I'm open to more suggestions!**

**This was rather heartwarming to write. Percy and Bruce might be a bit OOC, but I tried to keep it a bit right. **

**NOTE: This is after Fury met Percy but they haven't moved in or anything. It's been around five years into their relationship. They probably move in together a couple months after this fic. Let's say this one is set two months after the alien attack at New York. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

* * *

HOW BRUCE MET HIM

It was a Sunday morning and Bruce was at his usual volunteer clinic, helping the people who walked in seeking aid. It had been a relatively normal day, with scraped knees, sore throats, a dislocated shoulder and severe case of athletes foot, but until there was a knock on his door at 11:13 a.m. It opened to reveal a blonde haired teenager gripping the hand of a meek brunette the same age as her. The blonde marched her friend right into his examination room and told him bluntly, "My name is Laura and this is my friend Jesse."

Bruce put down the book on quantum physics Tony had given him and turned to face then, giving them an easy smile. "Hello, Laura, Jesse, I am Dr. Banner. What do I need to help you with?"

Laura glanced at her friend, who was staring demurely at her shoes, and took the lead. "Jesse is my best friend," she said seriously, looking him in the eye. "So I figured I should come to a doctor, and this place was closest. Will you promise not to tell anyone unless we let you?"

Bruce was taken aback, but nodded. "Of course."

Laura huffed in satisfaction. "Good. Jesse, you should probably tell him." She put a supportive hand on her friend's shoulder.

Jesse rubbed her hands together shyly - no not shyly, but fearfully, and immediately Bruce's instincts were on guard. "Um," she twisted her fingers, "my family, they don't really like me, and um..."

And Bruce's good mood flew out the window, replaced with a tightly controlled rage. He _really_ didn't like child abuse, and that was exactly what this was. He had seen it often enough to be able to tell.

"It's alright," he said softly, giving her a smile. "Let's get you checked out."

* * *

An hour and a half later Bruce stepped out of the clinic's back door and into the alleyway. Taking a deep breath, he leaned against the brick wall and stared up at the sky. He had just sent Jesse and Laura off, patching up any bruises and scratches Jesse had and giving his number to Laura in case they needed anything else. He had also told her the name of a good social worker he knew, a Mr. R. Jong who would help Jesse in any way he could if she wanted, and where to find him. He had done everything could, but it still didn't feel like enough...

Now that the two teenage girls were gone the simmering anger locked away was now rising to the surface with a vengeance, and it brought the Hulk with it.

Sensing the other guy's grumbling, Bruce attempted to calm himself. They both knew he wasn't in any danger, but the fury he felt often woke up the Hulk. Feeling a little bit of green start to creep across him and his muscles start to bulk up, he grit his teeth and tried to meditate a little, even if it was just enough to still the Hulk for a couple minutes. Normally back in the Tower he'd go find a quiet room and light a few scented candles and take reassurance in his friends' constant presence, but he'd have to do without now.

But, unfortunately, it seems like the Hulk didn't feel like being complacent today. As he struggled against the change, his legs buckled and he slid to the ground, holding his breath. He shivered for a few seconds, until a concerned voice spoke out from the alley entrance.

"Are you alright?"

Bruce jerked in surprise, and in his shock the Hulk advanced a little further, causing him to shudder and his eyes to flash green.

He heard a soft 'ah,', then nearly unnoticeable footsteps, and the man was suddenly crouching beside him, a mass of grocery bags in his arms. He looked Bruce in the eyes and smiled winningly. With a start Bruce realized that the man's eyes were just as green as the Hulk's. "You seem to be in a bit of tough spot," he said casually, taking in his rippling skin and changing irises. "I have a place you can, uh, _cool down_ at, if you need to."

Normally Bruce would answer, whether it be yay or nay, but at the moment his head was swimming with the Hulk's sudden and strange ramblings. His grumbling, because they weren't really words more like feelings and images, was soft and quiet, and sent across the vibe of trust. Which, in fact, was odd. Unbelievably odd, because Bruce could count the number of times the Hulk had opened up to a stranger on one hand and probably have most of his fingers left. The warm sentiments of his other-subconscious leaked into his mind and he blearily reached out, catching the hand the man had held out.

"That's it," the man murmured, slipping an arm around him to pull him to his feet. Completely disorientated, Bruce allowed himself to be led, hazily finding himself focusing on the man's profile. In the cloudy spring light his tanned skin had a bronze shiny glow, and it highlighted the light scars that littered his body. His hand, still gripping Bruce's from where it was thrown over the stranger's shoulder, was strong and calloused, but Bruce didn't feel threatened.

They stumbled along several back streets, Bruce now put in a daze from the slowly-receding rage and rare trust. They came to a stop in front a strong steel door - a flat's back entrance, Bruce duly noted - and the man paused to unlock the door. Then, keeping a strong grip, he tugged the doctor down a dark wood hallway and into a cozy living room, with overstuffed couches and a brick fireplace. Bruce was gently pushed onto the couch, where he had a lovely view of the antique Greek helmet that was placed on the mantle, with two candles on each side. Several picture frames were scattered on shelves around the room, most of them depicting his unknown host with close friends or portraits of him as a teenager with a brilliant warm grin. The bookshelf off to the left had novels of history and fiction, as well as a few titles in a what he assumed to be Greek, just by the shape of the symbols. How very interesting.

His dissection of the stranger's living quarters was interrupted when said stranger wandered back into the room. Pushing a cup of tea into Bruce's hand, he took a seat in the armchair across from him and put his feet up on the coffee table. A glass of whiskey - his enhanced nose told him so - was cradled in one hand, while the other lazily propped his head up. Smiling green eyes regarded him curiously, black strands falling in the way.

"So," the man said, his tone friendly, "what's your name, Mr. Man-I-Found-Crouching-In-The-Back-Alley?"

Bruce flushed a bit, but the teasing was easy and laid back. "Bruce," he said, nerves finally calming at the familiar taste of tea, "Bruce Banner."

The man laughed, flashing white teeth, and responded, "I'm Percy Jackson; I work as a bartender at a nearby pub. What were you doing out there in the alleys? You don't seem like the kind that would lurk there."

"Uh, I'm a doctor and was just visiting the clinic there. I got a little worked up over a case, and had to take a breather."

"A doctor!" The man's - Percy's - eyes seemed to sparkle childishly for a moment, then he noticed the empty cup in his hand. "Well, would you like more tea, Dr. Banner, while we continue our lovely conversation?"

Maybe it was because Bruce had never really felt the Hulk open up to someone before and that made him curious, or maybe it was because this man had helped him out, or maybe there was no reason at all, but the doctor found himself accepting the offer and settling in for an enlightening the next hour Bruce found out that Percy's favourite color was blue, he enjoyed drinking whiskey and beer, he loved his little pub that was a few streets over, he had an affection for his friend's dog that was partly his named Mrs. O'Leary (he had asked the breed but Percy had just waved his hand and said it was impossible to tell), he was an excellent fencer, had a rather impressive knowledge of Greek mythology and his old history teacher had given him the helmet over the fireplace. It was the first time Bruce had really interacted with anyone outside the Avenger's team since he'd joined, and it felt surprisingly natural to joke with this man.

And as he was placing his glass in the kitchen sink and preparing to leave with Percy chattering away behind him, inspecting the iron cast coat stand dubiously, Bruce braced himself and said, "Aren't you going to ask?"

"Hmmm?" Percy glanced at him, emerald eyes dancing with mirth. "Ask about what?"

Bruce was dumbfounded. "Me turning _green_ in the alleyway. Don't you want to know?" The doctor fought the urge to twist his fingers nervously. People _always _wanted to know. It was basic human nature: fear of the unknown and everything that had to do with it. Either they wanted to figure out every little thing and what made him tick, or they shoot him with anti-tank guns and ran away screaming when that didn't work. Of course Percy would ask, it was the normal thing to -

"Nah. I mean, people die their skins all sorts of colors, so being able to do it without them isn't that big of a deal. And people can buff up on man-made substances too - you can just do it naturally. Besides," here Percy's eyes sharpened, and seemed to laugh teasingly at the shocked expression on Bruce's face, "I've seen plenty things crazier."

Bruce could only stand in stunned silence for a full minute, before stuttering out, "I, uh, don't know what to say, and, um..."

Percy snorted and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. "My phone number and address, if you ever want to drop by for a drink again. Bring a few friends if you want. If you ever need a place to crash, feel free to call. Now ta ta, have a good day, Bruce. Glad I could meet you." He flashed one last brilliant smile his way and ushered him out the door.

The soft thump of the door closing snapped Bruce out of his trance, and he stared down at the paper in his hand, the number scrawled across it and letters etched in pencil. There was even a little happy face at the end, which just made him laugh because it seemed to perfectly fit the Percy he'd seen today: cheerful, friendly and kind, but intelligent and witty enough for Bruce to have a good conversation with.

Even though he hadn't known Percy long - two hours, it felt so much longer! - he knew that they'd be good friends. He was the kind of person he could count on forever, and Bruce didn't have many of those people.

* * *

When Bruce returned to the Avengers Tower, he was practically floating, a faint smile etched on his face. Tony, who had been serving himself an espresso in the kitchen, arched an eyebrow his way when he entered. "Good day?" He asked.

Bruce smoothed out the paper with the number and entered it into his Stark phone 5, fighting a stupid grin that normally only Tony smiled when he saw Percy's name pop up alongside the other Avengers. "Yeah, you could say that."

* * *

**AN - This gave the friendly fuzzies when I wrote it. So much fun to give Bruce a new friend. It feels kinda short. Bah, whatever. It felt like a good place to end it.**

**Well, I put a list of who is and who might be included in the first AN for anyone who didn't read that. Now you can't rage at me for not mentioning who's involved cause this is a reminder XD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. I'm stuck on whether to do Bruce finds out next or to just mix up the series. Whatever. I'll try to do Bruce finds out next and keep it in pairs. Leave any suggestions in reviews or PM me! Support is always appreciated :D**

**Hope you liked it **

**Matches :D**


	5. Chapter 5 - How Bruce Found Out

**AN - Hey everyone! I'm back with 'Bruce Found Out'! I'd like to thank everyone for their support! Reading the reviews makes me all fuzzy inside. I'm really happy about all the recommendations about people's favorite characters that they want to see! I'll try to include everyone that I can think of. **

**Right now I'm planning on writing for: all of the Avengers (some already done), Coulson, Loki, Maria Hill, Nick meets Nico (XD), Nick meets Poseidon (can't wait for this) and maybe Nick meets Annabeth or Thalia. I had a quick question period with the wonderful _The Clever Weasel_ and they helped me decide that Percy is BISEXUAL! And that he broke it off with Annabeth a bit after they dropped into Tartarus and all that jazz. Also, the time line is a bit screwed up, so just take it as it comes. I don't really have a time lay out for this. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

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HOW BRUCE FOUND OUT

It wasn't often that Bruce was called onto the field for something other than smashing things as the Hulk. The opportunities to use his knowledge as a doctor, medical or scientific, were far in between and he relished when they did come.

So when the Avengers were called out in the middle of a battle, he was fully prepared to shut his eyes and let the Hulk out to jump from the carrier. At least, he was until a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to meet Coulson's steady gaze.

"You'll be staying here. Your medical and scientific expertise will be needed in case the terrorists unleash a biological weapon or anyone on board the carrier gets injured." The agent said. Bruce raised his eyebrows, and his teammates paused in their preparations for the battle, but soon resumed their actions.

"You'll be okay?" Steve asked as he buckled on the sheath for his shield. Bruce nodded - he was practically safer in the carrier, and he wouldn't have to stomp around as the other guy. Seeing Bruce's silent answer, the super solider turned to Coulson. "So, what exactly have these terrorists got?"

"Robots. Eight feet tall, they are extremely strong and are programmed to shoot on sight if they see you. They're set to rampage until the terrorists are defeated or their demands are met. We also believe they may have a chemical weapon, like we mentioned earlier, but it's just a suspicion." Coulson gestured to Bruce. "That's where you come in."

"So, Brucie is the backup in case they whip out something unexpectedly nasty?" Tony asked, fiddling with a few spare parts. He squawked as Clint yanked the half-made contraption from his hands, tossing it into a random drawer while muttering about him probably making a bomb.

"Essentially, yes." Coulson shrugged, glancing out the half-open cargo bay of the carrier. "You'll be dropping in a second. Good luck, you lot. Bruce will meet you guys down there once the majority of the fight is over."

Bruce watched his friends and teammates gather by the cargo bay, ready to jump out onto the fast approaching roof tops. "Stay safe," he told them. They flashed him easy grins in return and Thor clapped him on the back. "Do not worry, friend Bruce! We shall regroup and celebrate with drink and food after this battle." Bruce sent them off with an uneasy smile, trying to take the god's words to heart, but found he couldn't. He had an uneasy stirring in his gut, and he had found over the years that it promised trouble. He could only do what he could and hope everything would turn out fine. It usually did. Today would be no different.

* * *

The battle ended surprisingly quickly, and Bruce was let out onto the ground an hour and ten minutes after he had wished his teammates good luck. He couldn't see any of his friends in the immediate vicinity, but he could tell they were safe and healthy, if the bickering over the comm in his ear meant anything. Moving down the street and away from the carrier, he made his way to where he had been told his team was. Several monuments and street lamps were broken and bent, and two unmoving robots lay strewn on the ground. One was half draped over a fountain that Bruce recognized - a now-cracked marble bowl, with a small pillar of sea creatures like fish and seals rising up from the center. The odd horse-fish on the top leaked water from the trident on its back in random jets. Bruce could remember Percy showing him it, taking odd pride in the odd fountain. He'd said the horse-fish was a hippocampus. And if he was right, then the fountain was only a block away from Percy's apartment...

_I hope he's alright_, he thought. It had been a few months since he'd met Percy, and he often went to drop by his apartment whenever he had to get away from the Avengers tower. The green eyed man always welcomed him with open arms, and if he wasn't at home in the apartment then he would wander over to Percy's bar (it was thankfully only a block away - literally a two minute walk) and get a non-alcoholic drink and chat with the other man. If something had happened to Percy, it would be a hard blow to Bruce's mentality.

It was as he was thinking these thoughts that he noticed the metallic limb sticking from the shadows of a nearby alley. It was the left arm of one of the robots, chopped smoothly from the rest of its body, which was nowhere to be seen. Crouching, Bruce brought his fingers along the slash. Whatever had cut it had been made of good metal, and had a hell of a lot of force behind it. But if the arm was here, the body had to be close too.

He continued into the shadows of the alley, and as he ventured further he became aware of the sound of soft breathing. It sounded harsh, like the person had been put through physical activity and gotten bruised along the way. A few more steps and suddenly Bruce was aware of a faint shine from around a dumpster a few feet away. It was the body of the missing robot, its right arm missing and the other almost hacked to bits. Its torso was sliced and the wires inside exposed, the power supply smashed. Next to it was a form propped up against the wall.

As he came closer he spotted messy black hair and tanned skin. An arm was tightly gripping the man's side; bruised ribs and back would explain his harsh breathing. Bruce's foot crunched on a discarded pop can and immediately the man's eyes flew open, a hand slipping into a pocket. Shocking green eyes met Bruce's and the doctor felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"Percy?!"

* * *

Five minutes later Bruce was helping his friend to his feet. Percy had three broken ribs, four bruised ones and a large gash across one of his arms. While his physical wounds didn't seem to bother him - Percy was oddly resilient, his muscles lean and corded - there was an odd substance on the blade that the robot had slashed him with. Percy said it was poison, and though Bruce didn't know how he had experience with it, it was worrying nonetheless.

Percy took three steps before his legs gave out. A snarled curse left his lips, and Bruce placed a soothing hand on his neck. His skin was uncomfortably warm and beaded with sweat, an unfortunate side effect of the poison. Bruce didn't know what variation it was, but he could determine that it wasn't lethal. It would give his friend a moderate fever, mild hallucinations, nausea and a massive headache, but no permanent damage. He just needed to get somewhere to rest, and his apartment was the best place since it was only a few minutes away.

"Hey," Bruce said, "take it easy. Your apartment isn't going anywhere." Percy grunted in agreement and struggled to his feet. They were approaching the end of the alleyway when the sound of strong footsteps reached Bruce's more-than-human ears. He jerked his head up to stare at the main street, and a few seconds later a strong figure stepped into the light, their shadow falling down the alley. A brown trench coat swirled around their ankles, and a bald head of chocolate coloured skin turned to look their way.

Bruce recognized the man's face immediately. The eye patch on his face made him stand out more than almost anyone he knew - it was a personal beacon, like Percy's striking grin and green eyes.

"Director Fury!"

* * *

When Fury heard about the robotic terrorist attack, he hadn't given it much thought. New York was probably one of the best prepared cities in the U.S.A for such attacks, with the Avengers living there. But when someone mentioned that the terrorist's robots were fast approaching Bourbon Street in an attempt to flee the Avengers, and that they believed their base was around there, he froze. _Bourbon Street. That's near Percy's apartment._ He immediately shot up from his desk, startling the agents who had gathered at his office to report. _Percy._ He shoved past the suit-clad men and strode out the door, making for the hanger.

He knew his boyfriend could take care of himself. He had seen the scars and the muscles during their night times reunions, and had taken time afterwards to consider them. There were slashing scars, stabbing scars, burn scars, claw marks, enormous bite marks, even a few that made him think uneasily of torture. The now faded lines traced Percy's torso and limbs like roads on a map. Most of them were old, probably gotten in his teenage years, but several went further, into his twenties. There weren't too many new ones, which was a silent relief to Nick, but the evidence was there. Percy had seen the dark and rough side of civilization, probably participated in it, and he came out alive and healthy. Measly robots had nothing on him.

But he couldn't help but worry. Especially since the terrorist's base was so close to his flat, and the investigator's had thought they might have a chemical weapon.

He commandeered a small helicopter and within ten minutes he was soaring over the outskirts of New York. Spotting the carrier that Coulson's unit had taken for the Avengers, he landed the chopper next to it and began to hurry in the direction of Percy's apartment. His irrational worry only grew as he examined the robots laying on the streets, and as he passed the cracked fountain that Percy loved so much, he heard a phantom of his boyfriend's voice in the back of his mind: _'Oh, look, over here! I love this fountain! Isn't it great - hey, what do you mean it's weird? It's not _weird_, it's bloody fantastic! What? No, the sculpture wasn't on psychedelic drugs when he made it, that's a hippocampus there! Jeez, do your Greek mythology research, Nicky._'

Shit. If something had happened to Percy he didn't know if he could move on.

He was moving along steadily when he heard the sound of talking, and the voice was a familiar one: Bruce Banner. Why was the doctor hanging around here? Coming up to the alley the voice had come from, he turned to look down it in to see something that made him bite back a sigh; Banner was helping Percy towards the street, his arm slung over his shoulder. He didn't know if the gasp was one of relief or worry. Percy was here, alive in front of him, but the way he was moving signified that he was hurt.

In seconds Nick was standing in front of the pair, taking Percy from the startled doctor and embracing him in a strong hold. He wasn't usually one for public displays of affection, but he knew that Banner was quiet and respected personal privacy. He wouldn't say anything. So, just for a few moments, Nick buried his face into the crook of Percy's neck and inhaled slowly.

Meanwhile, Bruce felt like his mind was shutting down like one of Tony's botched projects when he threw them in the electricity vault in a moment of sheer frustration. The only thought he could form was _what. What? What!_ Director Fury, who he had only seen as a professional and probably-heartless bastard, was wrapping up his good friend Percy in a hug! And a relieved, welcoming hug nonetheless. Oh, and now he was nuzzling Percy - and the bartender was nuzzling back! The hell? And _oh my god they were kissing! What the - _

Bruce span away from them, his face flaming. He would have never guessed that Percy was involved in a relationship with a man, never mind with Fury. Not that he had anything against it! No, he was just... surprised. Really surprised. It felt like his cheeks were on _fire_.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Bruce glance back. Percy was giving him an amused glance from his position in Nick's arms, now turned around so that he was facing the doctor. A cheeky smile was on his friend's face. "You okay, Bruce?" He asked, faintly teasing.

"Peachy," Bruce grumbled. "Just peachy." He gave the other man a small smile to let him know that he was just surprised, and that he didn't have anything against him. Percy relaxed a tiny margin at the smile, and his smirk grew into his signature grin.

"So you two obviously know each other," he said, nodding from Nick to Bruce. The director just snorted, pulling him closer for a moment, while Bruce rubbed his head sheepishly. "Eh," the other said, shrugging.

There was a moment of silence, which was slightly awkward, until suddenly Percy's legs folded and a grimace overtook his face again. "Shit," he swore.

"What happened?" asked Fury, shooting Bruce a glance as he hurried to them. "There was poison on the blade the robot slashed him with," the doctor said, gesturing to the disembodied metallic arm laying not too far away. "Nothing too serious, but it will give him hell for a day or two if we don't get him to someplace quiet where he can rest. I know his flat is nearby."

"And how," Nick said, raising his eyebrow, "do you know where Percy's flat is?" Bruce flushed at the director's tone as they helped Percy along, more carrying him than letting him walk. "We met a few months ago. He helped stop me from Hulking out and took me to his flat for a chat. We kind of stayed in touch ever since."

Fury shot a glance at his boyfriend, who was starting to get a little delirious. "Should I be worried about you bringing random men into your flat all the time?" Percy had the lucidity to laugh sheepishly for a second, then groaned as another shudder wracked his body.

Bruce watched the two interact curiously. They seemed like a good pair, however unlikely. The way they were acting showed that they had been together for a while, and he couldn't help but wonder how long and how they had met. Probably some crazy way, including bombs and guns and aliens and Hungarian Mafioso and sharks with laser beams. He wouldn't expect anything less of Percy and Director Fury.

As they reached Percy's flat and helped him to his bedroom, he watched Nick lay him out on the bed and a stray thought crossed his mind. If they were in a long lasting relationship, then they'd probably been over to each other's houses. And couples had sex, so that meant...

Bruce felt his face flame up again, and he quickly exited the flat, ignoring Percy's confused, "Bruce?" He shouted that he'd come back to check up on him and that he had to rest until he was feeling better over his shoulder, and paused to bury his face in his hands at the bottom of the stairs.

_God_, he'd never be able to look at Percy's couches and tables the same way again, knowing what had probably transpired there. And with Nick Fury!

The doctor let out a harsh breathe He just had to meet his good friend's boyfriend, who happened to be the head of America's top secret agency, in a terrorist and robot related way. Couldn't his life ever be a little normal?

_Well,_ he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the light blue door of Percy's flat, _if it was normal I'd never have any of this, would I? And he wouldn't have any of that, either._ He shrugged and kicked at a pop can as he walked down the road, back to his original destination of his awaiting teammates, who were now thoroughly confused. _Meh. It'd be too boring if this life was ordinary anyway._

* * *

**AN - I'm not too sure about how satisfied I am with chapter, but it seemed okay. Feels kinda short too. Not my best and most satisfactory piece of work, but I can live with this! I hope you enjoyed it! I had some fun writing it. Leave a review, drop a follow and favorite _si vous plais_. I appreciate any questions or recommendations you may have. **

**Next up is: ****How Tony Met Percy (oh boy!)**

**Matches :D**


	6. Chapter 6 - How Tony Met Him

**AN - This was surprisingly frustration to write. It's long, but for some reason it was hard to find a good theme for it. I hope it's satisfactory. I've been busy with being a camp counselor and working on some other stuff, so sorry that it's late. Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer - Don't own anything.**

**Warnings: Slash, yaoi, gay relationships in this story, whatever you want to call it (just not in this chapter)**

* * *

HOW TONY MET HIM

Tony was having a bad morning. First he had meeting that was so early that the coffee shops weren't even open, and Pepper was off somewhere in Sweden to visit her mom so she couldn't make one for him. Happy (his driver) was home sick with a fever so he had to drive himself to the building where he'd be having the stupid phone conference, half way across the city. And now, still at least twenty minutes away from the building, his car broke down. Fucking _whipdee_-_do_.

Swearing like a sailor, Tony stepped out of the silver Lamborghini and eyed the smoke curling from under the hood dubiously. While he might be famous for being an inventor, he didn't have any idea was wrong. Tony Stark dealt with nuclear warhead and plasma cannons, not _cars_.

But maybe he should, because if they kept on being an inconvenience like this he might as well look up vehicle engineering and save himself a dozen trips to a faraway car workshop. Or maybe he should just get rid of cars? Yeah, hover crafts that ran on arc reactors, that he could do. It wouldn't take much…

Shaking off his wandering thoughts, Tony turned back to the problem at hand and wondered if he should pry open the hood. From all the movies he'd seen and personal experience with smoking methods of transportation, smoke meant fire and/or heat, heat meant possible explosion, and possible explosion was a big no-no in Tony's book. So the final plan was really to just call a cab and meander up to the conference like that? Ha, no way. Tony Stark did _not_ show up in cabs.

But it wasn't like he had any choice.

"Shit," he growled. He _hated_ mornings, and they hated him back to. Pacing back and forth on the quiet street angrily, he scowled and switched his glare from the smoking car, to his watch, to the general direction of the conference and back to the car. The debate whether to show up to the meeting at all or be a good boy and call a cab was warring passionately in his head when a man's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, you've got some bad luck, don't you?"

Tony felt his eyebrow twitch at the teasing tone of the stranger. Turning sharply, he glared at the black-haired man who was standing a few feet away, a bag slung over his shoulder and faint smirk on his face. "Well excuse me for my car exploding without explanation," he grumbled. Tony was not a people person before he got coffee in his system. "And it's just before a meeting too!" He threw his hands up in the air angrily, muttering to himself.

The man watched him for a moment, smirk turning into a bemused smile. He opened his mouth, paused with a contemplative look on his face, and then smirked back at the billionaire.

Tony felt his eyebrow tick again. Oh boy, that smirk was just infuriating. It had to be a gift, that smirk. If he had that smirk, oh the things he could do to piss off Fury without even saying anything…

"I can give you a ride." The man interrupted his thoughts for the second time that day.

Tony shot him an incredulous look. "And you really expect me to believe? While I like to believe in there being nice people who help others simply because they can, it's too damn _early_ for anyone to be nice for no reason. And you could be a creeper, who just wants to kidnap me for my body and do terrible things to me in the basement of a non-descript cupcake shop!" He jabbed an accusing finger at him to reinforce his point.

The man just threw his head back and laughed, white teeth a stark contrast to his tanned skin. "Sure sure, it's all up to you. So where's your meeting?" He asked, continuing to walk along. Tony glanced back his smoking car, then to the casual man who just strolled past him without a worry in the world. Well, he didn't _seem_ like a kidnapper or pervert. And Pepper would smash his balls in if he missed the meeting…

Following the man hesitantly, he said, "The Majing Corporation Building. You know where it is, right?"

The other man flashed him another smile. He seemed to be inclined to always have bright shining smiles that practically blinded you in their cheerfulness. Tony wasn't sure if he liked him for it or not. "Of course. Ah, here we are." Stopping in front of a brick building, he went to a small cargo unit that was pressed into the alley leading to the back lane. He unlocked it quickly – the padlock seemed to be made of some strange bronze metal that Tony had never seen before; that was interesting – and slid open the hatch to reveal a gleaming black and green motorcycle.

Tony couldn't help but let out a whistle. "Impressive," he admitted. It was a good motorcycle, close to a Megelli Sports model, and was obviously well loved, with no scratches and barely any dirt. He idly ran a hand down the seat while the man reached into the unit and grabbed two helmets, handing the second to him. As he wheeled the motorcycle out onto the curb, Tony glanced back at the building. It was (surprise!) a bar, the small sign by the door reading '_The Golden Fleece_.' "This your bar?" He asked, strapping on the helmet.

The man laughed, another brilliant smile that Tony was coming to like crossing his face, and seated himself on the bike. "Yeah; I've had for it a couple years now. Wouldn't work anywhere else." He motioned to Tony. "Aren't you going to get on?"

Tony mumbled a few choice words under his breathe but threw his leg over the motorcycle, settling behind the other man. He only had a second to grab a hold of the other's sides before their rapid acceleration nearly tore him from the vehicle. They zoomed from the quaint street and into a more bustling part of town, despite the early time. They took the corners at barely legal speed, and Tony watched in morbid fascination as the needle on the speed gauge didn't once slip over or under the 45 m/h mark. Damn was this guy good; he didn't flinch at all, not even once! It did make him think if he'd ever gotten a speeding ticket before… And that reminded him, he didn't even know this guy's name.

"Hey!" He shouted over the wind, placing his mouth near the other's ear, "I didn't catch your name!"

"And you let me drive you here anyway?" There was a sarcastic snort but the man shrugged as they began to slow down. The Majing Corporation Building was ahead, and they wheeled to a gentle stop in front of the doors. "It's Percy," he told Tony.

"Percy," Tony rolled the name around on his tongue as he slid off the bike. Pulling the helmet from his head, he handed it back to his new friend (acquaintance?) and took a few steps back. "I'm Tony."

"Yeah, I already know who you are, Stark." Percy revved the engine a bit and prepared to take off. "Who knows, maybe we'll run into each other again. See ya!" And with that he was gone, shooting off around the corner with a frightening grace.

"Huh." Tony eyed the street. "Interesting. I know where he works, so maybe sometime I could drop by… Oh look! The coffee shop's open!" With that he rushed off to get his dearly needed life-giving drink, and the matter of the mysterious Percy was shuffled to the back of his mind, but it lingered, and he found himself wondering.

* * *

And it was three days later that Tony did drop by, though he was completely sleep-deprived and almost hallucinating when he did. After staying away for thirty-five hours and ingesting probably a dozen cups of caffeine, he had been in the process of trying to find a name for his newly finished robot when the title, 'Percy' popped up in his head. Immediately it made him think of the black-haired man, and being in the slightly delirious state he was, he decided it was an excellent idea to go and visit him. He climbed into his car, which was thankfully controlled by JARVIS because it wasn't possible for him to drive safely, and wheeled off to the small bar called '_The Golden Fleece_' he'd found those days ago.

Lucky for him it was probably one in the morning, so a good deal of the bar's customers were either passed out on the floor or already gone. Percy was standing at the counter, cleaning cups and yawning idly. Any sense of lethargy he might have felt had disappeared completely when Tony staggered into the building, mumbling incoherently. "Jesus!" Percy said, hurrying over to him. Slinging an arm around him, he quickly hauled Tony to the back room before he could attract any more attention.

"What's wrong with you, Stark?" He asked, dumping him on the couch pushed against the wall. The inventor just blew a raspberry blearily and stared up at the wooden ceiling, idly admiring the nice contrast the wood made to the rustic walls. Percy pried open his mouth and sniffed his breathe, and after crinkling his nose a bit he murmured, "You're not drunk, though you could do with a mouthwash. No concussion or head trauma," he held Tony's eyes wide open to the light to confirm his last statement, then grunted when he saw the normal pupil dilation. He checked his pulse for a moment, and then eyed his face. "You just seem to be extremely tired. How long have you stayed up?"

Tony waved a hand airily. "Mmm, a day or more? Hey, you're a lot like a field doc, checking me up like that. Do you know a field doc? I do; I met tons. They're real pricks, some of 'em…"

"Great, glad to know that." Percy got up and grabbed a glass of water, dropping a few pills into them. He swirled it for a moment then handed it back, the liquid slightly cloudy. "Here, drink this, you fool. It'll help you sleep. Going this long without rest is gonna destroy your mind."

With wavering hands the billionaire grabbed it and looked at it dubiously. "Will not. I've done it plenty of times and I'm still a genius." He squinted some. "Where'd the pills go?"

"They dissolved, numbskull. Now bottoms up."

Reluctantly doing as he was told, he coughed as the liquid trickled down his throat. In a mere couple of minutes he could feel the medicine kicking in, sending his mind off into the hazy world of sleep.

* * *

Tony woke with a groan. His body ached and his mouth felt like something had gone and died in it, but the couch beneath his back was comfy enough to make up for that. Mm, it even smelt like fresh ocean air and mint.

_Wait,_ he thought, _my couches don't smell like mint or ocean air_.

He sat up and gazed around the nicely furnished room that was most definitely not one of his. It had two couches, one of which he was sprawled upon, and a tall backed armchair, arranged neatly around a coffee table. Pushed up against one wall were a stove and fridge and a huge rack of wines and whiskies. Through an open door off to the side he spotted what seemed to be an even more varied collection of alcohols, and stairs to what he guessed was a cellar.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he closed his eyes and tried to think back to whatever he might have done to end up in this place. _Well, I definitely hadn't slept in a while, and I was done up on caffeine so I was probably messing around in the workshop. I made a new robot, and his name was gonna be Percy... Percy!_

He jerked abruptly to his feet then staggered as all the blood rushed out of his head. Grimacing he eyed the room once more, vaguely remembering it from last night. So he had wandered in to Percy's bar, and somehow hadn't gotten kicked out. Great.

"Oh, you're awake." Percy's somewhat familiar voice tugged his from his thoughts, and the inventor turned to look towards the main entrance. Percy stood there, dressed in casual clothes and his hair in the same state of black disarray as the last time he'd seen him. Behind him was the bar, empty of patrons and morning light streaming in through the low-slung windows.

He walked further into the room and dumped the bag he held on the armchair. "I didn't think you'd be up so soon; you were completely out of it yesterday evening. Well, technically this morning. It was around one am when you stumbled in."

And no that did _not_ make feel Tony the tiniest bit guilty. Nonetheless he shoved away the emotion and wandered over to riffle through the bag, finding only some food items. Leaving them he went to inspect the cupboard and fridge, ignoring any thought of privacy as he did so. He had the reputation of an asshole-billionaire philanthropist to keep up.

Within the cupboard he found several books, most of which were written in a language he vaguely recognized as Greek, and wasn't that odd? He hadn't thought Percy to be the bilingual or studious type, but then again he'd only known him for an hour or so in total. There were also indexes on alcohols and a notebook in the very back, which he assumed to be the bar's log. Inside it there were probably several different brews that regular customers favored or recipes for snacks that were popular. He was opening the one next to it, and could have sworn he saw the twinkle of something metal and sharp when a tanned hand landed on the door of the cupboard and slammed it closed.

"I think," Percy said dryly, "that you should wait until you know me a little better before you start snooping, Stark."

Tony swallowed at the unfathomable look in the other man's green eyes but covered up the movement with a carefree shrug and a dashing grin. "What can I say? It's just who I am."

"I'm sure that's true. Now, why exactly did you stagger into my bar last night?"

"Er, I might have been slightly deprived and had the equivalent of an IV drip of coffee running through my veins, and when your name popped up in my head I figured it was a brilliant idea to drive over here and see if you were in. I remembered your address from when you picked up your bike." He grinned shamelessly as he spoke, watching Percy momentarily pause in his shuffling around the small kitchenette.

The other man hummed thoughtfully and returned with a glass of water for Tony to drink, along with a bottle of headache pills. He handed them to the inventor, who took them gratefully and popped two into his mouth.

"So," Percy began as Tony took a sip of water, "how exactly did you get here without crashing your car?"

Tony choked on his water at the question. That _was not _the reaction he'd been expecting. Where was the anger, for dropping by on a whim at two in the morning? Where was the disappointment, at having him passed out on the couch for the night? Where was the greed and the gaze that would demand repayment for inconvenience he'd caused this (almost) total stranger?

But those weren't anywhere, and the only thing in Percy's eyes was curiosity, and maybe a bit of humor.

"Uh," Tony wiped a small trickle of water that had escaped lips, "my AI – artificial intelligence -" he explained at Percy's confused look, "JARVIS is installed in most pieces of Stark technology I personally own, and he took over the controls so I didn't run into some townhouse and decimate a third of this neighborhood's population."

Percy's eyes gleamed slightly. "Does that mean you could be absolutely smashed and still not be pulled over for drinking and driving? Because technically, you're not really driving, are you? Or could you take people on tours of New York, and scare the shit out of them by just turning away from the wheel and start talking to them?" His smile was slightly frightening.

Tony revelled in the newfound mischievous side of this strange bartender, and smirked. "I haven't thought of that, but yeah, I could." He stroked his small beard thoughtfully. "Actually, there is some crazy stuff I've done, with JARVIS's help of course."

"Really?" Percy plopped down on the empty chair and Tony sat down opposite of him, on the couch. The bartender placed two glasses of an interesting brand of rum and the bottle on the table and leaned forward curiously, chin propped on his fist. "Do tell."

Tony grinned and began spinning his tales. When he left five hours later, he had JARVIS drive him home to the tower so that he could a) not be arrested for driving slightly drunk and, more importantly, b) enter Percy's phone number into his phone and tuck away the note for a night of free drinks at his bar anytime.

He hadn't been so glad for sleep-deprivation and the stupid decisions it brought in years.

* * *

The next time Tony ran into Percy was after he had returned from Afghanistan. It was a dark night, and after lying awake for hours in bed, afraid to sleep because of the nightmares that would come, he had given up on rest and gone out for a drive. He had stopped in a quiet and slightly shady alley to lean against his car and stare up at the cloudy sky above. Idly he took out his phone and scrolled through it, not really knowing what he was looking for but feeling that there was something urging him to just open up his contacts and eye them thoughtfully. There, halfway down his rather long list of people he'd mostly given his number to half-heartedly, a single name leapt out at him.

_Percy Jackson._

He stared for a while. He had nearly forgotten about the bartender, all thoughts of the green-eyed man shoved the back of his mind in the recent turmoil of Afghanistan and everything after. His release from imprisonment had only been months ago, and despite the good face he offered the media, he was still fragile. Still broken.

But the idea of meeting Percy again was... nice. The man, even though he'd only known him for a short amount of time, had seemed friendly. He had been pleasantly sarcastic, enough to counter Tony's own sense of humour at times, and intelligent. But that wasn't all. Now that he had experienced the cruelty of the Ten Ring's for himself, and faced the harsh reality of battle, he could see the same familiarity in Percy's eyes. When he looked back on his memories, he could see the touches of fighting for survival in Percy's demeanour - the way he took in all his exits and entrances of a room, his constant awareness, his easy body positioning that always let him spring into a defensive or attacking posture no matter what he was doing and the calluses and scars on his hands.

Percy was a man experienced on the battlefield, however unlikely that may seem, and right not Tony needed that. Someone who could understand, someone who _really _the cold truth of the world and the fighting that came with it. Not an expensive psychiatrist and a plump purple love seat to lie on and spill all his troubles, because that psychiatrist would just nod and hum then write up a prescription for drugs that wouldn't do a damn and hand over the bill. He didn't want a horde of reporters either because for all their sympathetic cooing and worrying over him and offering to splash his sob-wrenching story all over the nation he could only see them as shallow and annoying gnats, flying about his head. Even Pepper, for all he loved and cherished her and held her dearly, didn't understand what was locked away inside of him, despite all her trying.

But Percy would, because he had probably been through something close to it. Maybe he was wrong, and maybe he was insane, but he just felt that his situation was probably familiar to Percy. Call it instinct or the voices in his head, but something urged him to drive to _The Golden Fleece_ and he didn't think twice about listening to it.

The bar was surprisingly quiet when he pulled up in front, but it was a Monday, so it might have explained why there were less people there when he pushed open the door. He glanced around, a small smile quirking his lips. The place hadn't really changed in the eight months or so since he'd last been there. Sure, there were a couple of new tables, a new rack behind the bar and the counter had been redone but everything else was the same. And there was Percy, standing in his usual place behind bar cleaning glasses, smiling softly as he gazed down at his hands. He glanced up when the door creaked open, and a look of surprise crossed his face when he saw him standing there.

He stared for a moment, then put down the now-clean glass with a strong clank. Somehow the sound echoed throughout the entire bar and the dozen or so men talking softly glanced to him. Percy met their eyes and said softly, "We'll be closing early, gentlemen. Please close the door on your way out."

Tony never would have the men, who were tough and burly and many sported tattoos and grim faces, would have actually obeyed, but to his surprise they stood and filed out with no objections. It must have been something in Percy's eyes, because when the bartender looked at Tony, the genius found himself drowning in the sea of green.

"Hey," Percy said quietly.

"Uh, hey." Tony felt the beginnings to awkwardness creeping up his spine and rubbed his neck nervously. He had just barged into this man's bar to ask for help when he'd only known him for a few hours, and it had been months since they'd talked. What was he thinking, that this might have ever worked out? He should just turn around and walk out; he had no right to bother Percy like this. It would be better for both of them if he just -

"Do you want to come to the back?"

Percy's gentle question made his gaze jerk up sharply from his boots to the other man's face. The bartender was currently holding open the door to the back room, gesturing vaguely to the couches that he could just see beyond him. Deciding to grant his selfish wishes, Tony took a step forward, then another. He slowly made his way past his sort-of-friend, who made no move to rush him, and gingerly settled himself on the same couch he'd woken up on last time he'd been there. Percy sat down in his armchair too, and they stared at the coffee table between them for a moment. Then the green-eyed man said, "Are you here to get drunk, or to talk?"

Tony hesitated, before falling back on his usual life motto of '_Oh fuck it all,'_ and answered, "A little bit of both, I think. You know, A will help B, and B will cause A, and the circle of life continues."

Percy snorted in agreement and got up to grab two bottles of the same rum he'd had last time. (How did the man even remember that he'd liked it? That had been months ago.) They both clinked their bottles together and cracked them open, taking a deep gulp. Then Tony wiped his lips, placed his elbows on his knees to stare at the floor, and began to speak:

"You probably know some of this. I mean, it's been splashed all over the news in just about every country on the globe, as far as I know. The Ten Rings, my imprisonment, the escape, this damned -" he tapped the glowing circle underneath his thin grey T-shirt, "- thing stuck in my chest. I know it's been a little while since I've gotten back, and all the doctors in New York reassure me that my wound are healed, but they're _not_. Sure, the gashes are gone, the bruises faded, bones healed, but those didn't hurt the most. It hurt," he took a staggered breathe and clutched at his head, "it hurt in _here_ the most."

Percy didn't say anything, just took another sip of alcohol and gestured for Tony to do the same. The billionaire did so eagerly, and after a moment continued.

"I can see it in their eyes; they don't really get it. What it's like to be trapped in a cave, to think that that place was going to be your coffin six feet under. Then to have Y-Yinsen," his voice broke, "have to cut you open to put a fucking car magnet-thing in your chest to keep frag from stabbing your heart. We didn't have anything - no sterilisation equipment, no meds, no sedation or all that stuff. All then he goes and dies, and leaves me alone and I blunder out of that hell in that metal coffin made of spare parts I'd assembled while delusion and delirious. My head, it was such a dark place, after. It didn't feel like my mind I was thinking through; everything felt frozen and cold and sharp. I hated it, and I still do."

Tony didn't look up from the floor when he heard the clink of glass, but was vaguely aware of Percy getting up to grab something from on top of one of the shelves. A blue glass orb, the size of his palm, was set down on the table in front of him. He glanced at Percy questioningly as the other sat back down.

"Look into it as you talk," Percy instructed, talking a sip of rum. "I've used it before. It'll make it easier to just let it out. I'm not gonna try and force you to think that everything is fine now, because it's obviously not, but you can make it so. First you have to work yourself out, find what's lurking and chase it out, let it lie there in front of you. What you're hiding and denying can't hurt you anymore if you stop those things. Pull it into plain view. Admit to it, know it happened and shove it aside. Rip it to bits if you have to. All those dark things swirling inside you just," he waved a hand at the orb, Tony and the table, "spill them all out."

And spill Tony did. Now he spoke, sometimes for a minute, sometimes for half an hour, sometimes he'd go ten minutes without saying anything only to just burst into rants all of a sudden. To a normal psychiatrist Tony would expect them to think him crazy, but Percy didn't say another word after his little speech. He just listened, absorbing everything Tony was expelling and after hours and another bottle the billionaire realized that whatever Percy was getting his to do was working. He felt a bit lighter, and a lot drunk, but better. Better since he'd left those terrible caves and dry dunes riddled with memories he didn't ever want to look back on.

When he woke up he found himself with a terrible hangover and Percy asleep in the armchair alongside him. He had warily shaken the other man awake, nearly received a punch for it, accepted Percy's half-hearted apology for it, and proceeded to try and clean up his mess. He went to pick up the strange orb still on the table, and nearly panicked when it suddenly split down the middle and the blue swirls disappeared.

Percy just waved it off with a mysterious smile and a vague, "It's done its job." and taken off with the glass shards. They spent the next hours talking about lighter, more mundane things, and when Tony left he greeted his hysterical Pepper with an easy smile that was more real than any of the others he had given her those past months. It would take around another year of more late night meetings with Percy then moving onto day time excursion that he would never call 'hanging out with friends' because Tony Stark did not "_hang out_" with friends, and finally introducing Percy to Pepper that made him admit it:

Percy was a friend, a damn good one at that, and at times, his own personal therapist. A damn good one at that, too.

* * *

**AN - So, yeah, this was surprisingly long and it was hard to find a theme that wasn't too boring. Which I hope it wasn't. I'm not all too proud of this chapter. Oh well. I hope you liked it at least a little.**

**QUICK QUESTION: Do you guys want a few "bonus" chapters after everyone and the Avengers together have met Percy? Like, everyone gets drunk together, or the Avengers find out how bad at archery Percy is, or Fury/the Avengers are dragged off to Camp Half-blood and hear the full graphic stories of everything (because Percy would totally down play them a little, cause he's modest like that.) It's up to you. Let me know in PMs or review.**

**IF YOU WERE SKIPPING THIS AUTHOR NOTE, PLEASE READ THE PARAGRAPH ABOVE FOR AN IMPORTANT QUESTION. I'LL POST IT IN OTHER CHAPTERS TOO. **

**Matches**

**Up next: Tony Finds Out (ooh, so many awkward conversations await XD)**


	7. Chapter 7 - How Tony Found Out

**AN - BLAAAAARGH. GAH. BLUH. GLUUUUUURG. COUGH. HACK. SNIFF. REPEAT.**

**Sorry, now that that's out of the way, I can finally get on with this. This chapter is several weeks late (I was hoping to post it two weeks ago or so) but due to camp counselloring, cello lessons, planning for our upcoming camping trip, and NOW me having a TERRIBLE head cold, this is what I have to offer. I find the length satisfying but the content... uh. I actually had a TON of trouble with this chapter. I rewrote the beginning theme and idea four different times before I dubiously decided on this. Because I am too tired to care too much and my screen is wavering in and out of focus, I'm going to just let you read the chapter (if you even read this) and ignore my ravings. **

**Thanks for the reviews, btw. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. **

* * *

HOW TONY FOUND OUT

It was a late Sunday night and Tony Stark was lounging on his couch, watching Percy pull on his leather jacket to head down stairs. Despite the drinks they'd consumed over the past few hours, his friend's steps were strong and certain as he pulled on his shoes. "Do you really have to go?" Tony whined to the bartender. "Your room is ready as always."

"Yes Tony," Percy said, smirking at the billionaire. Tony was more than a little bit tipsy, though not completely wasted, and it showed in his change of personality. "Some of my regulars want to rent out the bar tomorrow, and I have to get up early to set it up."

"Poo." Tony pouted, and finished the last of his glass of beer. "How about the night after tomorrow? I heard there's a new bar opening in the East side that's supposed to be good, we can go see it. You know, check out your competition?" Tony waggled his eyebrows.

Percy paused at the doorway, a bashful look on his face. "Eh, sorry, I have something going on."

"What, is it a date?" Tony asked jokingly, poking fun at his friend's expression.

The way Percy rubbed the back of his neck and quickly exited the room gave him all the answers he'd ever need.

"Whaaaat?" Tony shot off the couch but only managed to stumble around the coffee table before he face planted. Well aware of the speeds Percy could reach when he rushed, the genius rolled over and shouted to the ceiling, "JARVIS! Where's Percy?"

"I believe he has already left the building, sir, and is being driven home by Mr. Godfrey at the moment." The AI replied.

"Goddamn!" Tony swore loudly as he cautiously picked himself up, scowling at the bottles of beer that had left him inebriated. Well, he couldn't bother Percy _now_; the bartender would just rip him a new one about pulling him back after he'd left for a stupid (in Percy's opinion, but not Tony's) reason.

Oh well. He'd just have to corner him the next time he saw Percy, and maybe force some truth serum down his throat if he had to.

Little did Tony know that the next chance he'd get would late enough that he'd have to resort to desperate measures.

* * *

"Sir," 'Happy' Hogan, Tony Stark's personal driver, said from his employer's side, "what exactly are we doing?"

"We, Happy, are spying." Tony said flamboyantly, gesturing with his binoculars to the busy street below.

"Well, I know that sir, but why are we here spying on _Mr. Jackson?_"

"Hush Happy, I don't pay you to ask these questions."

"No but Pepper does. So, we really are here because Mr. Jackson skipped out of going to bar together and that you think it's because of a date?"

Tony put down his binoculars and glared at his driver mutinously. He was dressed in his usual worn jeans and slightly oil-stained ACDC shirt, hair a disarray and hands clutching the binoculars.

"I don't think; I _know._"

Happy sighed. "Boss, I think Mr. Jackson really doesn't need you spying on him. His love life existed before you came along, so he can take care of himself."

"But who knows how many times he's been heartbroken, left to die alone by those heartless fools?" Tony pouted, waving the binoculars wildly.

Happy sighed and was about to launch himself into a lecture regarding over protectiveness and invading privacy when something on the street below caught his eye. "Oh, look, it's Mr. Jackson."

Tony's head snapped to look down in the direction his driver was gazing in. Indeed, there was Percy, though he seemed a little different than usual. Instead of his usual scuffed shorts or khakis and plain blue or green t-shirt, he was wearing slim black jeans and a crisp green polo, one that accentuated his tanned skin and eyes. His hair, while still messy, was a little more organized, and he was wearing leather shoes.

He had dressed up, obviously, and Tony knew why.

"A date! A date! See, Happy, told you that's what it was! Why else would Perce dress nice!" Wiggling gleefully in place on the roof, Tony chortled proudly. His driver just rolled his eyes and watched his employer's friend walk down the road, stopping at a small alleyway. "Sir, he's pulling a motorcycle out of a storage unit."

"Ah! Quick, Happy, to the Starkmobile!" Tony shot up and scrambled down the dubiously-creaking fire escape, which led to the side street where the aforementioned silver Mercedes was parked.

With a sigh Happy climbed in after Tony and started the car, pulling onto the main road just in time to start tailing Percy. The green-eyed man passed through the traffic, with Tony and Happy following with a bit more difficulty but still close by. He stopped outside a nice restaurant and parked his motorcycle in a conveniently close spot. It took Happy a few minutes and lots of ruthless cutting off but he wrangled a parking spot and they quickly jumped out to hurry after him. Luckily, Percy was still standing at by the doors, obviously waiting for his date, whoever it was.

Stashing themselves behind a nicely placed crepe stand - the purple-haired employee shot them a glance, but didn't comment - they watched in anticipation. Despite himself, even Happy was a little curious.

Less than a minute later, Percy's face lit up as a sleek black car rolled to a stop in front him. The door opened, but do to the angle they were at Tony and Happy couldn't see the mysterious stranger. Percy opened his mouth, obviously to greet him, and Tony leaned forward to try to hear him say his date's name. But, unfortunately but not surprisingly, something just had to interrupt the moment.

And even more unsurprisingly, it was explosions and gunfire.

Well, maybe it was a little surprising. But Tony was rather used to that.

Percy hit the deck with the ease of long practice (which had always bothered Tony, because this was _Percy_ and Percy didn't need to know how to dodge explosions and gunfire but he did anyway) but at the moment he couldn't help but be thankful for that odd skill. Not ten feet from the mysterious date's car, a Volkswagen Buggy went up in flames, and amiss the smoke Tony saw several figures dart about, wielding what he guessed were guns.

Percy scrambled to his feet, staying low, and conveniently fled in Tony and Happy's direction. He jumped, wide-eyed, when the billionaire reached out yanked him back by his shirt collar, pulling him into their little group.

"Tony?!" He spluttered, looking far more shocked than the genius had ever seen him. In his head Tony cheered at that little success (finally!) but he covered up his enthusiasm.

"Hey, Perce, uh, how's it going?" Tony gave his friend an unsure smile.

"What are you doing here?" Percy paused for a moment, and his green eyes narrowed in his famous glare that sent even the most muscular of drunken men scurrying from his bar. "Were you stalking me?"

"No, of course not!"

"Happy?"

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."

"Tony!" Percy whacked his friend over the head just as he exclaimed, "Happy!" Any further arguments were drowned out by the sound of more gunfire. Percy scowled and peeked over the crepe stand, muttering, "I really hate guns. And terrorists. They just had to interrupt my date."

"Ah, about that. Is your date okay? Like, not riddled with holes?" Tony asked a bit awkwardly. It would suck if his friend's girlfriend/boyfriend (he didn't know which) was dead before he could even interrogate them.

"He's fine. This kind of stuff has... happened before." Percy slid his hand into his pocket as he spoke, and Tony knew the bartender was fiddling with the pen he always had on him. It was tick he had, playing with the writing utensil whenever he was pissed off or nervous. Only Tony couldn't which one was plaguing Percy right now.

"So what should we do?" Happy asked, slightly disconcerted by his boss' and the other man's easy discussion while more bullets cracked concrete and windows.

"Well I don't know what _you're_ gonna do, but I'm going to find my date." Percy said, throwing them a short glare before bursting out from the cover of the crepe stand to jump through one of the shattered windows of the restaurant.

Tony made to lunge after him, but the spray of gunfire tailing Percy forced him to duck back behind the stand. "Shit!" Growling, he watched his best friend disappear into the swirling dust. Struggling to squint through the sight-obscuring cloud, he muttered to himself , "I really need to work on those vacuum grenades."

"Sir!" Happy's excited call made Tony look over his shoulder at his driver. The other man was pointing to an alley a little ways off. There was a door leading to the very same building Percy had darted into; it was probably the kitchen's back door. It was a short sprint's distance, but once they got into the alley they'd be sheltered from any stray gunfire that may come their way.

"Nicely done Happy!" Clapping his driver's shoulder, Tony readied himself. "Shall we go on three? Ready: _three_!"

Happy jerked in surprise as his boss burst out from behind the crepe stand but quickly followed, both managing to scramble into the alley just ahead of the bullets that spat at their heels.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Happy asked, hands braced on his knees as he panted. His heart was racing with adrenaline, feeling like it'd leap out of his chest any second. Tony grinned from his spot against the wall opposite his driver, hand clutching at his thundering chest and eyes bright.

"I wasn't really," he admitted and wiped his sweaty palms on his denim jeans. "But it got us here right?"

"Honestly I wonder how I still work for you, sir."

"You love me, Happy." Tony took a deep breathe and approached the door to the restaurant. Happy reluctantly followed his boss and together they wrenched open the heavy door. Inside was an empty kitchen, no doubt already evacuated as soon as the fighting had started. Dust swirled across the counters and the sounds of attack were muffled, thanks to all the walls between them and the conflict on the street.

Tony did wonder about that; was it odd that the gunfire and explosions had started as soon as Percy's date had stepped out of the car? And that the mysterious man who'd caught his friend's attention had effortlessly escaped the chaos into the safety of the restaurant? And that the assailants had focused fire on both Percy and his date without problem?

... Now that he thought about it, it didn't my seem like that much of a coincidence. It was just like Percy to end up with someone who called for just as much chaos as Percy found amusing. The bartender always claimed that a calm effortless life was a fruitless and boring one. Stood to reason that his chosen partner would live up to those standards too.

He just _really_ hoped the mysterious man wasn't a mafia boss or anything.

"Sir?" Happy exchanges glances with the billionaire playboy. Letting out a harsh breathe, Tony ripped a strip of cloth off his T-shirt and ties it over his mouth, Happy doing the same. Taking a step into the lonely kitchen, he muttered, "The things I do for you, Perce. This is even worse than the four thousand dollar Persian carpet and bottle of vodka incident."

And the door swung shut behind them.

* * *

Five minutes later Tony decided that he was never coming back to this restaurant again, if it still stood at the end of the day. "Who the _hell_ designed this damn place?" He growled, narrowly avoiding stumbling into an inconveniently placed bar stool.

A thump and a hissed curse indicated that Happy had failed to do the same with the table off to the right. "What I want to know is who blew the electricity, so I can punch _their_ lights out."

Stretching his hands out in front him in the dark, Tony snorted in agreement. After only two minutes in the restaurant, Happy and Tony had found themselves thrown into darkness to stagger through the maze of crooked tables, chairs and bar counters. There was just enough murky light, fed from the in a few other rooms, for them to see each other's outlines, but not so much the obstacles in their way.

A harsh slam to his shin later, Tony struggled to the doorway of the fourth and final dining room and peered around the corner. Down the 'employee hallway' was the worker lounge, the most reinforced room, and no doubt where Percy would go to wait out the attack.

Tony turned back to Happy and their eyes met. "Percy's probably down here."

"So what're we gonna do when we find him, sir?"

"Grab him and get the hell out. His date can take of himself for all I care." Tony rolled his eyes and made to turn around. "Now, where is - Jesus!"

The billionaire jumped almost a foot in the air when he can face to face with an imposing figure. It was too gloomy to make out their features, but Tony got the distinct feeling of strength and power as he looked at the man. He was wearing dark clothes and seemed to have chocolate coloured skin, but other than that he could see nothing.

"You know Percy?"

The dark voice tickled a familiar memory but Tony couldn't place it, nor would he try to in this mess. "Yeah," he said warily. Recognition dawned a moment later and he straightened from the fighting stance he'd unconsciously sank into. "You're Perce's date!"

"Took you long enough," came the acidic reply. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm Percy's best friend, of course I'll be here," he said, not really answering the question.

The man snorted, but didn't bother asking for more information. "You said Percy came in here?" His voice became a little gruffer when he spoke of Percy, but it wasn't a bad gruff. More like a... concerned gruff that he didn't want to admit.

Tony smiled. Aw man, Perce had this guy wrapped around his finger.

"Yes. We saw him run in ten minutes or so ago." Happy was the one to answer the inquiry, because Tony was obviously distracted by deep thoughts, if his satisfied smirk was anything to go by.

The man paused then spun on his heel and strode down the hallway to the staff lounge. Tony started at the abrupt movement but hurried after him, leather shoes clacking softly. "Do you know anything about the attackers? Perce mentioned that this 'has happened before' or something."

The brown skinned man didn't even stop to think about the question. "Why are you following me?"

"Because he's just as much my _best friend_ as he is your boyfriend." Tony glared at the man's back, hoping against all odds that maybe his gaze would cause his heart to stop. Or maybe a stray bullet would do the job. He could live with that too.

"Shut it, Stark." The man growled. Tony would have jerked in surprise at the fact that the man knew who he was (not of his identity, really, but more the fact that he could _tell_ in this damn dark) if Perce's boyfriend hadn't stuck his arm out and dragged him back behind a corner, Happy instinctively following. They were just in time, too, because four men in gray carrying hand pistols hurried past them, heading in the same direction as they were. Namely, the staff lounge. Where Percy was.

"Well shit," Tony swore softly. The man grunted what seemed to be an agreement and reached under his coat, withdrawing a hand gun from his belt. He took off down the hallway without hesitation, and Tony found himself nervously following.

Damn. That mafia don idea was really becoming a possibility. Now, was it a good thing or a bad thing with all the trouble Percy got himself into normally?

The sound of surprised yells jerked him from his thoughts, and Tony realized that they had already come to the half-open door of the staff lounge. The three men quickly burst into the room, Mystery Man brandishing his gun and Tony with his fists up. Tony was only a little surprised to see Percy wailing on the attackers already, with - was that a sword? Oh, no it was just a bat. A strange bronze-y kind of bat that he doubted had come from anywhere in the lounge, but the point was that Percy had a bat and he making use of it. Two men were already lying on the floor, blood dripping down their faces and eyes rolled back in their heads.

Happy was quick to elbow one of the men in the back as he tried to turn and face them, and with the ease of years of practiced coordination Tony smashed his face in with a nicely place kick. A quick chop to the back of neck from the driver and their target joined the others on the ground.

Mystery Man's fight was far less dramatic, involving little more than a gunshot and a cut-off yell, and then he was rushing over the body to where Percy stood, wiping small blood splatters from his hands. The green-eyed man was quickly swept up in a hug, and while Tony couldn't be too sure because he was a bit distracted by the awkwardness of seeing someone intimately hug his best friend, but he could have sworn that the bat disappeared just a moment later. Of course, such minor details weren't all that important in the face of the questions he had now, so he stowed them away for later.

Sidling up to the pair, Tony pointedly cleared his throat and said, "Hey Perce, still standing here, you know."

Emerald eyes opened and glared at the billionaire over Mystery Man's shoulder. "Then leave," he said flatly.

"Hey, is that any way to treat your best friend?" Tony pouted and clutched at his chest liked he was hurt by his friend's comment.

"A best friend that _stalked_ me on a date." Percy's glares sharpened.

At least Tony was a little abashed at that. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly. "That's what best friends do?" He offered.

Percy closed his eyes with an explosive sigh and let his head drop down onto Muster Man's shoulder. He withdrew from the other's man embrace with a soft pat to the shoulder and faced Tony. He held Tony's stare for a moment, then looked to Happy and asked, "Do you have a phone? We should probably call someone to get rid of the bodies." He gestured to the ones strewn on the ground around them.

"Uh, yeah. Here, Mr. Jackson." The driver quickly handed the man his phone, seeing that he was in no mood to be trifled with.

The green-eyed man took it and went to a quiet corner to make the call, leaving Tony and Mystery Man to each other's tender mercies. Tony, of course, was the one to take advantage of the situation. "So," he tilted his head curiously, "what's your name, mystery-man-who-is-dating-my-best-friend-for-who-knows-how-long?"

"I would've thought you knew, Mr. Stark."

Ah damn, that voice, why was it so familiar? It seemed to spark a fire of annoyance, frustration and mild resentment in him. How curious.

"At least a first name?" Tony pried, making a vague 'come on, come on' gesture with his hand. "It wouldn't hurt right?"

"With you it would, Mr. Stark. Don't try to downplay your information network."

Happy watched the exchange uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot as he looked back and forth between the two men. In the gloom, he couldn't really see their faces but he could sense the bubbling challenge in both their words, no matter how innocent they seemed. Clearing his throat, he pointed a thumb at a door with the words "Electrical Room" on it. "Uh, I'm gonna go and try to get the lights back online," he said, edging to the door as he tried to escape everyone's attention. He quickly disappeared behind it and turned to focus on the switches and wires, tuning out the not-argument going on outside the room. It didn't take him long to find the right one, and with a heave he flipped the restarter switch. There was a great '_whoo_' as the generator and the grid started going again and the lights flickered on. To Happy it was a good thing, but outside the room for Tony...

Well, before that day Tony had thought it was illogical for cartoons to describe their characters' jaws to hit the ground. Now he understood the sentiment.

After a moment of silence, he pointed a finger at the dark-skinned man before him and managed to say, "I fucking know you!"

"I should hope so, Mr. Stark," Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and someone Tony was unfortunately acquaintances with, smirked at the open-mouthed billionaire in front of him. "If you didn't I'd be slightly worried about your mental state."

Tony huffed, having recovered a little of his normal persona. "Hey, I'll have you know my mental capacities are just fine!"

But of course, inside Tony was screaming his head off. _Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?_ _No way!_ _That mafia don idea is looking a lot better right now! _

"Tony. Nick. No fighting." Percy's voice cracked like a whip and both men cringed, stares for once leaving each other to gaze at the ceiling or their shoes innocently. Percy stalked past them, a reluctant smile on his face as he went to the hallway. Happy hurriedly bolted ahead of them, anxious to get out of the awkward atmosphere. "Someone will be here to stall the police and clean up the bodies. We have to leave right now."

The two men trailed behind him, still exchanging glares - one that of an overprotective best friend and the other one of a pissed off lover. Neither dared to say anything, because Percy was still in front of them and damn he could be scary, but their looks said it all for them.

As they left the building the same way they'd entered Toyn squinted against the harsh brightness and sighed. "Well damn," he said to Fury, "now I have to be nice to you."

Fury snorted but didn't say anything, merely slipping an arm around Percy's waist with a raised eyebrow. Tony got the message quick enough, but he narrowed his eyes at Percy. "Fine, fine, I'll leave you two to go find a date somewhere else, now that I know _who _exactly it is you're dating, but we're gonna have a talk when you get. Whenever. Wherever." With that Tony spun on his heel and made for the main street, Happy following uncertainly behind him. As they reached the exit of the alley, Tony paused and pointed two fingers to his eyes, then back at Fury, the inevitable '_I'm watching you_,' gesture and continued on his way.

Happy walked alongside his boss and asked uncertainly, "Are you really that against their relationship, sir?"

Tony almost tripped at the question. "What? No! No, Percy's life is still his own and he seems happy. So even if I'm not a huge fan of that bastard, I'll try and," he shuddered here, "get along with Fury. 'Cause that's what'll make him happy. And that's all that matters to me. If his 'happy place' is with the pirate director of a dangerous spy-and-super-hero organization, then hey, I'll back him. Least their relationship will never be boring," he said with a shrug.

Happy seemed momentarily awed by his boss' willingness to put aside his dislike of Fury just so that his best friend's relationship could work and sat down at the wheel of the Starkmobile, musing over the words. Oblivious to his driver's temporary hero worship, Tony settled into his seat and propped his chin on his fist. He could only think one thing.

_Maybe that mafia don thing wasn't that bad of an idea after all._

* * *

**AN - Ok, there you go. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for all the suggestions and commentary and all that jazz guys, you've made this a lot easier when there's people backing you up on writing this. I'll let you know in more detail what the future plans for this story is next time cause the screen's kinda blurry and I really don't feel like going on much longer so...**

**Oh. _BY THE WAY THERE WILL BE NO POSTS FOR AT LEAST TWO WEEKS. I WILL BE CAMPING._ Woo.**** Hear the sound of my enthusiasm. I'll try to write something while I"m away. **

****QUICK QUESTION: Do you guys want a few "bonus" chapters after everyone and the Avengers together have met Percy? Like, everyone gets drunk together, or the Avengers find out how bad at archery Percy is, or Fury/the Avengers are dragged off to Camp Half-blood and hear the full graphic stories of everything (because Percy would totally down play them a little, cause he's modest like that.) It's up to you. Let me know in PMs or review.****

**Dying of a head cold and am going to sleep for another nine hours, **

**Matches**

****Up next: _Bonus chapter: _Nick Meets Poseidon. (Yay. No seriously. Yay.)****

(read the second AN paragraph if you haven't please. I don't want any flames regarding my absence.)


	8. Chapter 8 - BONUS: How Fury Met Poseidon

**AN - Hellooooo everybody! I return with this bonus chapter! The long awaited 'Fury Meets Poseidon!' It's actually a bit shorter than I thought it would be, but I'm rather satisfied. I hope you guys are too. By the way, the camping trip was fun :D so much s'mores *drools***

**Disclaimer: Own nothing!**

**Warning: Slash, MxM**

* * *

_BONUS : _HOW FURY MET POSEIDON

It was a quiet Tuesday evening, and Nick was spending it at Percy's flat. He was settled comfortably in the armchair by the fireplace, book in hand. Percy was sprawled out on the couch, sleepily watching the flames dance in the hearth. It was a rare moment of relaxation, and Nick was content to make the most of it.

At least until Percy's cell phone started to ring. The bartender jerked at the unexpected sound, flailing about until he managed to the phone from the coffee table. Pressing it to his ear, he said, "Hello?"

The sound of garbled words was all Nick could hear, but Percy groaned a moment later. "Seriously? You can't even deal with it by yourself?.. Gah, yeah yeah, I hear you. I'll be over in a couple minutes." Hanging up Percy heaved himself off the couch with a sigh and made for the front door.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked.

"Jack called form the bar. Said things were getting a bit busy _and_ rowdy and that I should probably come over just in case." Pulling on his combat boots he swung open the front doo ran dgave Nick a tired smile. "I shouldn't be too long. I'll call you if things really go FUBAR.*" And with that he was gone.

While Nick was disappointed his time with his boyfriend was temporarily postponed, he knew Percy would be back in an hour or so and settled in to wait. Little did he know that Percy's departure was the cue for something far more sinister to come knocking at the door.

Not even five minutes after Percy had left, the door bell rang. Surprised by the sound (the only visitors they ever really got were fast food delivery guys and door to door business men, because Nico didn't use the door) Nick got up and went to the door. On the other side was a man in khaki shorts and a hawaiin shirt, left unbuttoned to show his bare chest. He had grey streaked black hair and a small beard and green eyes that were eerily similar to Percy's.

"Uh, hello?" Nick said, a little befuddled at the sight of the stranger.

"Is Percy in?" The man's voice was deep and his eyes watched him blankly.

"No, he just went out. He'll be here tomorrow though." As he spoke, Nick felt a shiver run up his spine and was immediately on guard. This man was dangerous in a way that thrummed with power. For the first time in a long while, Nick felt small and unimportant.

Well damn. If this was how people felt when he steamrolled over them then maybe he should be a little more considerate.

...Nah.

"Well, that's fine," the man said. "I wasn't really looking for him anyway. May I come in? I'd like to speak with you, Nick Fury." Before Nick could even say anything - or reach for his gun - the man was already stepping through the doorway and taking off his leather sandals. He moved past him easily and entered the living room with a sense of familiarity. He lowered himself into Percy's favorite armchair and regarded Nick patiently.

"Who are you?" Nick asked sharply, hand sliding to the gun holstered at the back of his belt.

"I," the man said, green eyes serious, "am Poseidon. You may know me as Percy's father."

_Well, shit,_ thought Nick. Guess it was time for that belated 'you break his heart, I'll rip you to bits and throw you to the hellhounds' talk. It did seem to be several months late.

"Take a seat." Poseidon's voice was steady as he eyed the S.H.I.E.L.D. director.

Obeying the god's order - and how had he missed the fact that he was god, the powerful air around him should have told him immediately - Nick sat on the couch and bravely met Poseidon's gaze. There was a moment of silence before Nick drew up his courage and asked, "Do you want something to drink, _Poseidon?_"

* * *

Poseidon watched his son leave the comfortable flat, calling a goodbye to the dark-skinned man and rushing down the street to his bar. Of course, the crowd had been Dionysus' doing, as a little favor to Poseidon. The sea god had felt it was high time he go and meet Percy's chosen man.

He appeared on the flats doorstep as soon as he was sure that Percy was gone and rang the doorbell. There was a moment of silence then soft footsteps approached, and the door opened to reveal Percy's courter. He was average sized, with strong shoulders and a firm face. He had an eye patch covering his left eye but it didn't do his face any harm - in fact, it fit quite nicely. He had an strong presence, for a mortal, and moved with the grace of a fighter.

Well, Poseidon grudgingly admitted, Percy could've picked worse.

The man greeted him in a strong voice, and the sea god had the hide a smirk at the well-concealed confusion. "Is {Percy in?" He asked.

"No, he just went out. He'll be back here tomorrow though."

Ah, this man was sharp. Already he'd felt his godly aura, even if he'd been surprising it for the sake of the bystanders. "Well, that's fine. I wasn't really looking for him anyway. May I come in? I'd like to speak with you, Nick Fury." Sweeping past the mortal, he politely removed his shoes and strode into the sitting room. Locating his favorite armchair, he settled into it. There he watched the dark-skinned man who went by the interesting name of Fury slowly reach behind him, no doubt heading for a weapon.

"Who are you?" Surprisingly his voice was not shaking, despite his now partially released godly aura. (Didn't want to turn him to dust, did he?)

"I am Poseidon." Said god bit back a smirk. Dramatic pause... "You may know me as Percy's father."

He watched Fury's eye widen with a rare sadistic glee. Poseidon hadn't had _too _many children in all his years (compared to the others) and truth be told he'd never been close to very many. Honestly, Percy had to be his favorite son since that one kid, (Belos?) several centuries ago. And even then he found Percy's disposition much more likable. So the big-bad-father talks were rare and far in between, and to imagine giving one to a mortal man!

When Percy had called upon him several weeks ago, they'd had a nice walk on the ocean and he'd very bluntly stated, "I'm seeing someone, and it's a man. I hope you don't mind." Then he'd wandered off to his flat, leaving Poseidon to mentally stumble over his statement. The god had spent the better part of an hour debating whether he really did mind. (Which was saying something, because deciding if Japan needed another tsunami took only ten minutes.) He came upon the conclusion that, as the god of the sea, he was both ancient and ever-changing and therefore found sexual preferences irrelevant. As long as Percy was happy, and he got to threaten his man then he was fine.

Though he'd never admit that his short discussion with Aphrodite had helped him make up his mind.

So now he watched Nick Fury 'sweat it out' with no reservations and a large portion of fatherly glee. Then, surprisingly, the man's resolve firmed and he said, "Do you want something to drink, _Poseidon?_"

Ah there was the steel spine of a warrior. He couldn't help but approve. "No thanks. Now that the pleasantries are over, let's get down to business. What are your intentions with my son?"

* * *

Well, Percy's father didn't beat around the bush. Maybe that's where Percy got part of his bluntness. So of course the hard question had to come first.

Swallowing down his pride, Nick looked the god in the eye and admitted, "I love him." Nick was a very private person, who didn't say his feelings out loud very often. But, for the man he loved and to prevent his own smiting by the father of said man, he would speak.

Poseidon's eyes were still sharp; "Do you really? Would you throw away your life for Percy, or struggle through living hell to come back to him?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Hmmm..." Poseidon stroked his beard thoughtfully. "How long have you and Percy been courting?"

Courting?... Oh, dating. "Just under year, give or take a few weeks."

"And when did things start to get serious?"

"...Serious?"

"As in, things went to the bedroom, or you figured out that you 'love' Percy."

Nick swallowed. Obviously this man (god?) had no reservations about things getting awkward. Probably came with being thousands of years old. "I realized that Percy and I's relationship could be something more about seven months in. I didn't date much, so it took me a while to understand that I wanted serious."

Poseidon's gaze didn't waver. He was still expecting something.

Nick bit back a groan. "Things went to the bedroom about eight-nine months in." There. He'd said it. The over-protective father talk had to end soon now.

Poseidon sat back with a satisfied nod. All of the answers were to his liking, and they were honest. This Nick Fury obviously hadn't rushed into his relationship with Percy, and intended to make it long-lasting. And he'd sensed no lie or hesitation when the man had said he loved Percy. Through his link with Percy as his godly parent he could sense that his son was completely enamoured with this man. It did him good to see that the feelings were mutual. still, he was forgetting something... Oh, that was it!

Nick looked up as Poseidon began to speak again. "I know that Percy is perfectly capable of defending himself, and I know that _you _know that," Nick nodded unconsciously. "But I'm entitled to say this anyway: if you hurt Percy in any way, whether physically or emotionally, it won't matter where you run or where you hide. I _will_ find you and I will invoke a curse upon you so that you may never rest in life or death, and then I will kill you slowly. Once that's done I will drag your soul to Hades and force him to give you the worst fate in the Underworld and you will suffer it _forever_."

As the god spoke the light in the flat dimmed and the air hummed with power. The flooring creaked as Poseidon literally glowed with power, his green eyes keeping Nick pinned to his chair.

After a moment the godly aura faded away and Nick fixed Poseidon with a dry scowl. "I'd _never _hurt Percy," he said coolly. "And if something ever does possess me into doing so, you have my full permission to do all that."

Poseidon eyed him for a moment then a cheerful smile split his features. Nick blinked at the sudden change as the sea god clapped his hands. "Well, that's nice to hear. You mentioned something about a drink earlier; is that still available? If it is, we should have a discussion about the standards of soldiers nowadays until Percy returns. I haven't seen him in several weeks."

Nick stared for a moment, but quickly got up and got them both a glass of _Festivities of the Sun. _Poseidon made a sound of appreciation as he sipped the beer, then looked at Fury with twinkling eyes. "So, how exactly do they train standard soldiers this century?"

* * *

When Percy returned some forty-five minutes later, he was expecting to see Nick, beer in hand and book in the other, lounging on the couch. He was _not _expecting to see his father seated in his armchair, looking pleased with himself, holding a discussion with Nick, who looked tired.

"Dad?" He asked, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here?"

Poseidon glanced to the doorway in surprise. A familiar grin settled on his weather-worn features as he rose to greet his son. "Percy!" He said warmly. "Can I not just drop in to see my favourite son and his partner?"

"Not at eleven on a Tuesday evening you can't." Despite his harsh words, Percy accepted the hug Poseidon was offering. Drawing back, he met the god's eyes warily. "I hope you aren't planning anything."

"Who, me?" Poseidon looked far too innocent to mean his words. He stepped around his son and made his way to the front door. Looking mournful, he said, "Well, I've got to go. Mexico's due for an earthquake in five minutes and I've got to sink a fleet of illegal shark hunting boats off of India. I'm glad we had this chat, Nick." He met the spy director's eye meaningfully.

"What chat? Did he break anything?" Percy turned to his boyfriend, archign an eyebrow.

Behind the demigod's back Poseidon pointed two fingers to his eyes, then at Fury, in an 'I'm watching you' movement. Then he said, "So long Percy. I'll try to stay longer next time," and he faded away like mist on a sea breeze.

Percy sighed and turned to go to the kitchen. "Gods," he muttered in exasperation. Nick followed him tiredly, exhausted with his talk with said otherworldly power. "Remind me not to get on your family's bad side," he murmured.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

* * *

**AN - I wrote this and half of the Natasha Meets Percy over the camping trip. My poor notebook, so many lines got wet-until-you-can-just-kind-of-read-the-words D: I have an absurd obsession with notebooks. They're my shopping spree item. That and video games and pens. YAY. **

**Oh, and since practically _everybody's _been asking for it, the 'Avengers go to Camp Half-Blood' chapters will officially happen!.. I'm just not sure when. But it will happen! I have also figured out at the non-bonus chapters will amount to around 19 or so. And maybe ten or so bonus chapters, including this one. Maybe I'll put a poll so you guys can vote... Hmm.  
**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. **

*******Read the second paragraph of this AN if you were about to skip it! IMPORTANT INFO!*******

**Matches**

* * *

**UP NEXT: How Natasha Met Percy **(heh heh... heh... heheh...)


	9. Chapter 9 -How Steve Met Him (I'm back!)

**AN - So, uh. Hey. It's been forever, I know, but I'm back! Sorry it took so long. I don't have many excuses - I have been procrastinating a whole lot, but I was busy with school and sports and family stuff. My muse took a vacation for a while but it came back last night! And guess what? I GOT MY FIRST FLAMER! **

**Considering it, it wasn't much of a flame - more like a yell of frustration, but it made my muse come back with a vengeance and I punched this out all last night. So for the flamer - I wanna say thanks because you got me going again, but I have to admit, others authors might have walked away because of it. So thanks but I'd appreciate it if you expressed your frustration with a little less violence XD Whatever, it worked out alright now, and thanks for sticking with me :D I'm not really angry at anyone. **

**So, here's the chapter. I tried to get Natasha Met out first, rewrote four times then moved on to Steve. I wrote this SIX TIMES (I counted them all) untiil my bought of frustration yesterday night. **

**THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME PEOPLE. I HOPE I DIDN'T LOOSE TOO MANY PEOPLE T-T**

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW TO LET ME KNOW YOU STILL LIKE THIS. **

* * *

**HOW STEVE MET HIM**

This mission, Steve decided, was not going to be put on his top ten list.

It was a cold night, his breathe frosting in the air and the ground crunching beneath his feet. The dull roar of the nearby water was a backdrop to his team. They moved quietly, expertly surrounding the warehouse with as little movement possible. The night was dark around them and the only light came from the moon and its reflections off the water and the cold, metal walls around them.

Crouching near the door that was to be his point of entry, he eyed the eerily silent warehouse. It was supposedly the holding site for some weapon smugglers who were planning on supplying terrorists around America. So it was, of course, SHIELD's job to fix it up before any of it could bother the public eye.

But, as all super heroes were wont to have, Steve had a gut feeling - a 'spidey-sense' - and it was telling him this place had some bad jujus.

Giving the hand signal to move forward, he jumped the stack of oil drums that served as cover and sprinted at the warehouse alongside his comrades. With one well-placed shoulder, the door slammed open, just about coming off its hinges. Steve moved quickly, spreading out and sweeping the room. With his shield at the ready and his team with their guns, they were ready for anything that might leap out at them.

But nothing leaped.

Instead, something ticked.

A cautious agent toed at a tarp lying in the middle of the ground; the blue plastic slid to the side and revealed a small pile of wires and a clock with ominous red numbers. It wasn't hard to guess what it was, because they'd all seen something like it a dozen times.

"Bomb!" Roared Steve. "Get out, get out!"

And they did turn and run but it did no good; they were barely at the doors before there was a loud _beep_ and the ticking stopped. Then everything turned into flames and a shockwave slammed into Steve with the force of a missile and sent him flying. He tumbled across the hard cement docks, just skimmed a pile of oil drums and plunged into the waters below.

As he sunk, stunned by the explosion and weighed by his shield and heavy muscle, he stared at the murky depths around him. The only thing he could think was, _frigid water feels an awful lot like ice. _

And then he thought no more.

* * *

What ever happened next was nothing more than a blur and glimpses of moments to Steve. He remembered darkness and freezing liquid, then a pair of startling warm hands closing around his arms. He didn't know how long he had been floating before those hands grabbed him, but he was alive, so it hadn't been that long. There was a rush of movement and suddenly the shock of air, _wondrous air_ on his face. He was thrown down and something smashed on his chest, causing him to convulse. The water in his lungs seemed to coil and move around on its own and it was suddenly exploding out of his mouth and spilling across the concrete beneath him. Gasping for breath, he tried to open his eyes and only managed a weak flutter. "My team…" he managed to wheeze. He didn't know who it was that had saved him, but couldn't they get his men?

There was a hot touch on his shoulder, a blanket thrown over him and a voice saying, "I'll get them. Sleep."

The only glimpse Steve managed to get of his savior were of green, green eyes.

* * *

Steve woke slowly, and it took him several moments to gather his senses. It didn't feel like he was in the cold waters, about to drown or freeze to death, but that's where his brain told him he'd be. What had…?

Then he remembered. Green eyes, warm hands and a breath of fresh air.

Someone had saved him. But who? Why?

Cracking open sore eyes - and man did he feel gross, his face all crusty and his skin tight - he found himself in a tasteful brick room, with dark wood accents and a roaring fire nearby. He was laid out in a comfortable nest of blankets on the floor. The rug was warm and scratchy on his skin when he sat up, and it felt surprisingly good. The heat of the fire licking at his skin, he looked around the room and was pleased to find he wasn't the only person there. Seven other men were curled up around the room, arranged in cozy nests like he was. He took it as a good sign - there had been nine other men in his team, and if only two were missing than that was more than he had been (morbidly) expecting. An explosion like that did not do well for the casualty numbers.

"Captain?" Asked a quiet voice. Looking over, Steve saw it was one of the higher ranking men in his unit that had woken next to him, Andrews.

"Andrews," he said. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just a bit bruised and burnt, I think."

"That you are." An unfamiliar voice made them both jump and spin around. A man stood in the doorway, watching them with amused eyes. He had a roll of blankets under one arm and a large plate stuffed with food in the other hand. Both Steve and Andrews shifted uncomfortably, not sure how they felt about the fact that the man had appeared without them noticing.

The man approached slowly, hands where they could see them, and settled the plate on the bar counter nearby. He dropped the blankets on an armchair and collapsed into its neighbor. Propping his chin on his fist, he eyed them and smiled easily. "It's good to see you up," he said.

Andrews narrowed his eyes at him. "Who are you? What are we doing here?"

The man rolled eyes that were a familiar shade of green, and Steve realized who he was a moment before he answered. "My name is Percy Jackson, and you're here because I fished your unconscious bodies from the waters late last night; you've been unconscious for around nine hours. Before you ask any more questions, I was out on a walk when I saw the explosion. I found as many of you as I can. I don't know if there're more of your team out there; sorry if there are." He said, eyes meeting Steve's and shining with a light of understanding.

Whoever this Percy Jackson was, he most definitely knew what it was like to lose a team. Maybe he was ex-military? Or secret services? He had the movements of a warrior, and scars marred his hands and arms…

He was jerked from his musings when something was placed before him. He stared down at the plate of warm, gooey, _blue _cookies before him, then up at Percy, who just smiled and took one for himself. Biting into it, he made a soft sound of satisfaction, then nudged the plate further towards Steve and Andrews.

Both took the hint, and despite their training screaming at them not to eat it because it could be _poisoned_, they took one each. A bite later and the taste of the sweat treat erupted in their mouths. Steve swallowed his and abashedly reached for another, then turned to stare at their savior.

"So," he said, "where are we? And how are my men?"

Percy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You're in my bar, _The Golden Fleece_, right now. It's on Bourbon Street. The men should be mostly alright; the worst is some nerve damage from a particularly nasty burn on that one's arm," he nodded to the man besides Andrews, who was sleeping peacefully. "But he should be able to use it just fine; a little stiff and achy, that's all. The others have bruising, minor burns, a few concussions that you should get checked out properly, and some risks for pneumonia, what with you lot almost drowning."

Something about the diagnosis made Steve twitch, but Andrews figured it out before he did. "How did you deal with the wounds?" Andrews asked, face stiff. "You don't seem like a doctor, and these," he gestured to his own burns and those of his injured neighbor, "aren't your typical scratches or little burns. These are battle wounds."

And then Percy smiled; a flat expression with grim eyes and a hard lips. "Oh, we all get them - battle wounds, that is," he said without much emotion.

The air was heavy for a moment, before Percy sighed and looked away. He stood and crossed to the cabinets behind the bar counter, pulling out a cell phone. He tossed it and it landed neatly on Steve's nest of blankets. "You probably want to call your superiors; you government types get awfully anxious, and I don't want my apartment being raided in the middle of the night."

Andrews bit back something that sounded like a snort, and Steve rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. Wincing at the minor twinges coming from sore muscle and tender burns, he crossed to the other side of the room where Percy was less likely to hear and made his call. It only took a minute - SHIELD was always efficient - and soon they had some transport coming their way.

Steve tried to give Percy back the phone but he refused ("They'll just steal it away later tonight, cause it has your headquarters on the call history.) and they sat around the bar in a semi-awkward silence. Percy seemed perfectly at ease, wiping down extra cups and the previously-full cookie plate and humming cheerfully. Steve and Andrews sat where they were, fidgeting awkwardly and occasionally checking on their still sleeping comrades. It was ten minutes later when Percy calmly put down the glass he was cleaning, crossed the room and opened the heavy wood front door just as a black vehicle rolled to a stop. Recognizing it as yet another cliché spy car, Steve and Andrews got to their feet. Several men in suits leapt from the car and quickly made their way into the building, Percy moving aside without complaint. Steve and Andrews lifted one of their unresponsive teammates each, the other agents doing the same, and shuffled out the front door. After safely depositing his subordinate in the van, Steve turned to where Percy stood by the door.

He stuck his hand out for the green-eyed man to shake. "Thank you for all your help," he said. "I really don't know what would have happened without your presence."

Percy just shrugged and made a shooing motion towards the car. "It's no problem - this kind of stuff happens all the time."

Steve really doubted that, but nodded and turned to leave. As he stepped from the door, he noticed another agent come up beside Percy. "I trust you'll be keeping quiet about this, Mr. Jackson?" The agent said.

He heard Percy snort. "Don't I always? I just can't believe this kind of stuff had to happen to me on my late night swim. It'd be nice for the gods to give me a break."

The agent muffled something suspiciously like a laugh, then said, "Well, the director sends his greetings, as always. How do you two know each other again?"

"That's confidential, I'm afraid."

"Hmm. Well, the crew and I will be stopping by this Thursday for drinks as usual. Hope you have some of the good stuff on tap."

"I will. You better get going, Agent. Bring some of your friends next time you come 'round, hey? You spy types are surprisingly good for business."

Steve bit his lip as he climbed into the van. Well. It wasn't every day that he met a bartender like _that. _A bartender who took midnight swims, saved drowning agents, went _towards _explosions, and took eight men in suspicious black clothes to his bar to heal without questions. Who knew what kind of history he had, and he didn't even want to think about how he'd gotten mixed up with SHIELD, enough to know Director Fury.

You know, maybe he should stop by for a drink sometime. Thursday sounded nice…

And that was the beginning of a beautiful (and insane) friendship.

* * *

**AN - So I know it's not my best work, and not all that long, but I figured it's pretty okay. I've been busy writing a short story for a contest too so I was a bit rusty on Pirate &amp; Sea stuff. It felt so good submitting it :D**

**I will try to have the partner chapter for this up soon. I have some scenario ideas (bwahaha.) THANK YOU ALL**

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW TO LET ME KNOW YOU STILL LIKE THIS (it'd be nice to have some support from this long of a break, so I know you forgive me T-T**

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Up next: HOW STEVE FOUND OUT


	10. Chapter 10 - How Steve Found Out

**AN: So I'm back with the last of Steve's set. I had fun writing this. I was originally planning on getting this out on Sunday, but I'm glad I didn't because I would've rushed it, and it wouldn't have turned out like this. :D**

**Big thanks to everyone who reviewed! LOVE YOU GUYS :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, just like I said pretty much every chapter before.**

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**HOW STEVE FOUND OUT**

Percy's bar was empty of all but two - the owner himself and his good friend Steve Rogers. The two of them were slouched over the counter, pleasantly buzzed and in good spirits. The former was in the middle of telling a tale of how he and his friends had been on the St. Louis Arch when terrorists attacked it, gesturing wildly with his glass and a huge smile on his face.

"And so," finished Percy, "we were the last people at the place before it was closed for renovations for at least a month."

Steve choked on his glass of Percy's personal whiskey (his favorite) and shook with laughter. "Seriously?" he said. At Percy's serious nod Steve snorted and laid his head on the counter.

Letting out a soft sigh, Percy put down the his glass and straightened. "We should get you back home, Steve." His dear friend (had it really only been four months since the explosion that had brought them together?) hummed quietly and got to his feet, if a little unsteadily. After a moment Steve made his way to the door and pulled his bomber jacket off the wrought iron coat stand, reserved for regulars and Percy's friends. He shrugged into it and waited by the heavy door. Percy was by his side a moment later, pushing him out and locking the door behind them. It was an easy routine, one they were familiar with. Have a few drinks, talk, complain about life, then Percy would walk him the four blocks to the busier street and hail a cab with his infamous taxi-cab whistle. Steve knew his friend could take care of himself; it was a ten minute stroll to Percy's apartment, and somehow his friend could recover from drinking faster than he could.

"Man, I can't believe your drinks can actually get me buzzed." Steve commented without thinking.

"What do you mean?"

Steve winced. That's right - Percy didn't know about his super soldier status. Well, that wasn't true - his friend had figured out he was _different_, somehow. He didn't ask questions when bruises disappeared quicker than they should, didn't wonder at his hardy composure; he just let it be. But he had no idea he was Captain America (his shield had slipped from his arm and remained at the bottom of the bay when he'd fallen) only that he was a SHIELD agent.

A slip of the tongue could be deadly, for both of them. So he waved it off.

"Oh, it's nothing."

Percy's raised eyebrow made him burst into half-drunken nervous giggles, and the bartender was quick to follow.

It was in their stupefied giddiness that it happened - a black car rolled to a halt next to them before they could react. A group of men in non-descript clothes and with masks over their faces leapt at them and suddenly they were down.

Steve was so startled he barely had time to react before there was a sharp pain at his neck. He stumbled to his knees at the force of the blow and helplessly Percy do the same. The black-haired man's eyes were swirling, green color darkening with awareness. He made to get to his feet, shaking off the effect of the alcohol like water, but a harder stomp on his back sent him down. A few more kicks to the head and Percy was out. Steve struggled not to follow him into the darkness but another blow sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

He gripped weakly at the sleek bracelet on his wrist and with shaky hands pressed the hidden distress button. He had to alert SHIELD, otherwise who knew what could happen to him and Percy…

As he drifted away, he heard gruff voices:

"What should we do with the spare?"

"Bring him. Any friend of Captain America is good leverage."

"Ha, true. We'll make him regret ever meeting Steve Rogers."

* * *

Steve woke slowly, and to the sound of dripping water. He remained still and listened - alert for the sound of any movement. There was only the sound of steady breathing.

Cracking open his eyes, he peeked out and saw Percy slumped across from him. Both of their hands were tied with thick rope that chafed terribly, and Steve's feet were also bound. Percy looked pale and had stream of dried blood running from his hairline, over his eye and to his cheek. By the soreness in his own heck, head and shoulders, Steve wasn't in the best shape either.

The cold, wet basement they were in was empty of all life except them. Shifting uncomfortably, he called out, "Percy? Percy?"

There wasn't an answer. "Percy? Hey Percy, wake up!"

"…mm. Gah, I'm up, I'm up."

Steve's heart lifted at the slightly slurred statement. Percy kicked a bit and opened his eyes sleepily. Rolling his wrists, he glanced around them. "Geez, my head… What happened while I was out, Steve?"

"Nothing; I just woke up. We're in an old building, by the state of this basement. I think we're alone ,for now."

Percy muttered something in Greek (Percy told him something about it being habit when he asked) and tugged at his restraints. He scowled and squirmed around, obviously looking for something to cut the rope with. He managed to get to his feet and stagger towards a broken lump of machinery. A couple of harsh cuts on a sharp corner and the cords fell to the ground. Percy made a sound of triumph and said, "Stupid amateur kidnappers - they obviously expect us to panic and flail, not to use our surroundings."

Steve made a sound of agreement. "That was smart," he said as Percy hurried over to him. The green-eyed man just nodded and began untying his hands. This close, Steve could see that Percy's pupils were blown out of proportion, one startlingly bigger than the other. "Shit," he muttered. That was one hell of a concussion.

With his hands free, he quickly untied his legs. Getting to his feet, he searched the basement alongside Percy. Five minutes later they were both standing in front of the only door in the room.

"You don't suppose that's the only way out, do you?" said Percy.

"Probably."

"It's guarded on the other side, isn't it?"

"Most likely."

"Wonderful." Percy looked to the left, didn't find what he was searching for, then glanced up. A grin split his face when he spotted the pipes overhead. He made to jump but stumbled. Turning puppy eyes to Steve, he said, "Could you get one for me?"

Steve rolled his eyes but understood anyway. He reached up and with one strong yank pulled free the pipe Percy was pointing to. To his shock a spray of cold water erupted into his face and he jerked, sputtering. Another pull had the thin pipe snapping off and he handed the metal rod to Percy. He did the same to another for himself (this one did not spurt water) and turned to his friend. Percy was standing in the spray of fresh water, seemingly not bothered by the cold liquid.

"I'll go first," said Steve. "You're not in the best shape, and they'll be bound to have heard something from all that."

Before Percy had the chance to argue there was shouting and the door shuddered under the force of a heavy blow. There was a click and the door swung open wildly, barely on its hinges. Steve was ready for the first three men that spilled through the doorway. Swinging his pipe like a bat, he took them down no problem and moved beyond the door. Whoever had kidnapped him (and consequently Percy) were obviously novices - their men crowded the stairway and were taken down in a matter of seconds. Reaching the watch room at the top of the stairs, he snorted. They'd even kept all his stuff there - his wallet, his phone, keys, earbuds… and the locator bracelet SHIELD had given him in case of an emergency. He had already pressed the alert button in the chaos of the kidnapping, so they should have been able to track his call.

He fumbled with it for a moment then pressed the tiny button alongside the distress one. "SHIELD base?" He murmured. "This is Steve Rogers, requesting immediate contact. My code is…" he spat out the phrase of words and numbers, and waited for the request to go through SHIELD's firewalls.

Finally a voice answered from the bracelet. "Captain, this is the Director. What's your status?"

Steve let out a breathe in relief. "A little sore and bruised, but otherwise unhurt. There's a civilian here with me - he got caught up in the kidnapping. He's worse off; maybe bruised ribs and definitely a nasty concussion. We seem to be in an old brick building, probably closed off for demolition.

Director Fury's familiar voice hummed for a moment. "We have a squad heading your way. These guys seem to be newbies, so it shouldn't be difficult, but take care of the civilian."

As if on cue, Percy's voice called up the stairs, "Steve, I'm coming up."

Distractedly Steve said to Fury "Understood sir," and answered Percy, "Alright, Percy. Be careful." He didn't notice Fury's sudden inhalation at the (familiar) name and ended the transmission.

His friend entered the room a moment later, looking far better for some reason. His pupils had evened out and the bruises on his neck faded slightly. Steve didn't bother to question it, just as he didn't pay the way Percy gripped the pipe like a sword any attention, and later he would forget about it in the face of more shocking things.

"Man," said Percy, already sounding healthier, "these guys are real idiots aren't they?" He grabbed his possessions and hefted his pipe. "We should probably get going, even if you have back up coming."

Steve nodded and opened the door. They crept down the hallway, pipes at the ready. They turned a corner and just about came face to face with another group of thugs. Percy was the first to react, surprisingly, and he dealt a devastating blow to a glasses-wearing man's face. Steve was quick to follow and the two wiped the group out in a matter of minutes. Moving on, Steve was mindful of his left arm, where he'd received a hard punch to the elbow, and Percy gingerly felt this ribs; he'd gotten a heavy kick there, and he felt twinges every time he tried to move extensively.

He didn't give it much mind, but made a mental note to get it checked out later. He could ignore it, due to his experience with battle wounds, but that didn't make it disappear. He didn't mention it to Steve, of course - his dear friend was fretting over his capture enough as it was.

"Percy!" called Steve. Shaking his head, the bartender ran to catch up with Steve. They continued down the winding corridors, ready to fight, until they heard a loud _boom_! There was immediately shouting and the sound of fighting, but to Steve and Percy's trained ears it was organized chaos.

SHIELD had arrived.

The pair was quick to move towards the noise, eager to meet up with their allies. They weren't terribly injured (or in Percy's case, not any more) but they were tired and as the adrenaline wore off their previously unnoticed hangover began to loom over them. Grumbling at the headaches starting to bloom, they wandered around the last corner and came to a stop in what had to be an entrance hall.

The large room was mostly empty, with several black-clad agents standing guard as the rest of the troops swept further into the building. The guards eyed them for a moment then ushered them into the centre of the hall. There stood a familiar figure that both Steve and Percy recognized for different reasons.

Steve eyed the trench-coat wearing man in front of him in confusion. "Director Fury? What are you doing here, sir?"

The super soldier's question was a valid one - Nick Fury rarely went out in the field due to his important (and restrictive) rank as Director. For him to be here was strange.

"That is of no importance," snapped the Director. He strode right past Steve, ignoring his wobbly salute, and made for Percy. In front of Steve's widening eyes, the dark-skinned man swept Percy into an all-encompassing hug, his face set in a glower.

"Stupid man. First I get a call that one of my best agents was kidnapped, and had to find out for myself that you were taken along with him. All in one night."

Percy snorted into the spy's chest, but he made no move to get away as a crooked smile crossed his face. "M'fine, Nick. Just a little bruised, and I have this massive headache." He reached up and dug a knuckle into his forehead, grimacing.

Fury grumbled a bit and tugged Percy towards the doors. Steve watched them pass him by, his mouth hanging open and his eyes glazed over. "What?" he managed to stutter as Percy and Fury disappeared from sight.

Phil Coulson hummed sympathetically and clapped him on the shoulder. "I know it's hard to take in, Steve; just give it a minute to sink in. We best get to base. You might get some explanations there."

"G-gah," were Steve's only words as he was led into the sunlight.

* * *

It took five days for Steve to escape the scientists and doctors at SHIELD HQ. The first thing he did when he was free was make his way to _The Golden Fleece. _Knowing Percy, a few bruised ribs wouldn't keep him down, and they needed to talk.

He hadn't seen Percy at all since they were separated after the attack and he was itching with questions. How did he know Director Fury? What was their relation? Was there more heart-attack inducing secrets to come?

Unsurprisingly the bar was empty when he entered (it _was_ one in the afternoon) but the door was unlocked so he thought nothing of coming in. "Percy?" His voice rang throughout the bar, and Steve had never felt so uncomfortable in Percy's presence.

"I'm coming!" A moment later Percy came out of the back room wiping his hands on a cloth. There was a second of awkward silence, then Percy smiled. "Steve! I was wondering when you'd come around."

A previously unnoticed something loosened in his chest and the super soldier took a seat at the counter. Percy them a glass of his personal single-malt whiskey, _Under Dark Helms_, and they sipped at the dark liquor. After a minute Steve decided to take the plunge.

"So, how are you?"

Percy waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Everything's healed up nicely - a nice shower fixed most of it."

Steve sighed. "Mmm, good… You're probably wondering what happened then, huh?"

Percy stilled and met Steve's eyes, all signs of joking replaced with seriousness. "I don't need to know, Steve. We all have secrets, and I'll only listen if you're comfortable enough to tell."

Steve fidgeted a little but didn't look away. "I want you to know," he said firmly. "I trust you."

Percy made a gesture for him to continue.

"We were kidnapped," Steve took a deep breath, "because I'm Captain America."

There was a moment of silence, in which only the clock made noise. Then Percy rolled his eyes and snorted into his glass. "Is that all? Honestly Steve, I don't know why you'd get so worked up over something like that. I've known for a long time now."

Steve blinked and took a moment to think things over. "You have?" he said.

"Mm. Your boss told me a few days after I met you. It never mattered to me. It's not like it's more dramatic than my own secret."

Steve arched an eyebrow at his friend. He was so much more at ease now that his consciousness had let up. "Really? Well, tell me about it."

A crooked smile appeared on Percy's face, and his green eyes gleamed. "Alright then." He took a sip, swirled his whiskey and said without hesitation, "I'm dating your boss."

Steve blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened to say something and shut without making a sound. His mind screeched to a halt, backed up, rebooted and tried again. Percy's smile was turning into a smirk, and he busied himself with draining his glass and biting back chuckles. He refilled his own glass and generously topped off Steve's. The super soldier nodded mechanically and lifted the glass to his lips thoughtlessly.

It was just a bit of unfortunate luck that the full impact of what Percy had said hit him while he was swallowing. Abruptly Steve choked and hacked as the strong liquor scratched as his throat when he struggled not to spit it all out. Unsurprisingly Percy was not fazed at all and just watched him with a growing grin.

Eventually Steve managed to say, "_What?_"

Percy shrugged carelessly, smothering a chuckle at Steve's growing blush. "I'm dating Nick Fury. we've been together for a good while now. He _does_ have a life out of SHIELD - surprising, right?" He joked.

"I think my mind just imploded," muttered Steve. His glass was quickly emptied and refilled. He pressed a knuckle to his temple, ignored the heat in his cheeks and regarded Percy. His friend looked way too amused by this, but at least it partially explained some things. Like how Percy would move soundlessly, didn't flinch at an angry glare from a burly customer, and wasn't fazed by any injury he might receive, whether it was a small cut from a kitchen knife or a bloody nose from a disgruntled fist. Of course Director Fury would only take a lover that was strong and could protect himself.

Finally he said, "You're serious."

Percy's eyes did the damn sea-green twinkle thing again. "Unbelievably so."

Steve groaned and closed his eyes. He decided that it was best to just not think of it and leave it be. But a traitorous bit of his mind couldn't help but wonder…

"Damn it," he groaned. A minute later he opened an eye and peeked at Percy. "How long have you been dating, exactly?"

Percy laughed and leaned forward like he had a secret to tell.

Steve couldn't help but listen.

And that was that.

* * *

QUIZ THING: What Olympian do you think each drink is made to represent?

_Festivities of the Sun_

_A Dead Man Tells no Tales_

_Under Dark Helms_

Those are all of Percy's drinks featured so far. They should have a mini description in the chapter their mentioned in, like _A Dead Man Tells no Tales_. I'll add more in the future. Give me some guesses in your reviews :D

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**AN: Hope you enjoyed it, leave a review to let me know you like it (and to guess the gods' drinks), and follow and favorite if you haven't yet! I'll try to have the next thing out soon.**

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Up next: **HOW NATASHA MET HIM**


	11. Chapter 11-How Natasha Met HimFound Out

**AN - So, this is finally done. Natasha isn't my favorite character to write and I found it hard to get her to fit in properly. I tried at least six different ideas before I decided to just mush How Natasha Met and Found Out together, and I rewrote this one three times :P But yeah, here it is! Hope it's not too bad.**

**Disclaimer - I own nothing!**

**Contains: Slash, M/M, etc. blah blah blah, if this is a surprise I'm worried...**

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**HOW NATASHA MET &amp; FOUND OUT**

There were few things that Natasha loathed with a passion, but this mission was a culmination of many of them: rumors, out-of-country incidents (because America had enough problems as it was) and criminal organizations that had the power to back up their smack talk.

So she was filled with great reluctance when she read over the mission parameters and found that she was to take down the informant web of BREK, a rising terrorist group that had set their eyes out of Europe and on America. It was just her luck that it was settled in Greece, fueled by mutters in the international underground.

It was her second week there in Greece, hidden in the outskirts of the middle-sized town that was supposedly the centre of the web. Finally, after days of observation, she was ready to go and crash the place.

If it burnt to the ground in an unfortunately timed gas leak then it was just a coincidence, right?

It was early in the morning, about 2 am, when she approached the building. With her knives strapped to her thighs and her guns settled in their holsters she ghosted across the cracked cement. She was in the middle of a rarely used cargo yard, full of half-empty warehouses and shady characters. It was ideal for any type of illegal activity, and at this hour the only buss in the place was inside.

She stealthily slipped inside the warehouse from a side door. The halls were bare and the only noise came from farther into the building. She snuck through the paths made by the gaps between rusting shipping containers, and peeked around the corner of one to catch sight of the centre area.

There was a series of tables, with several men gathered around them. They were talking in Greek and garbled Russian, voices low. It took Natasha a moment to tune into their conversation.

_"-the men think they've seen a suspicious character around. 'Parently they've been hanging around the warehouse district for a while now."_

_"Do you think it could be the government?"_

_"Maybe. They think it was a bit too shady, though."_

_"Damn. Now's really not the time for this kind of shit. The heads are really squeezing us for info. I doubt they even know how difficult information gathering can be." _

_"Ha, you said it. I just hope the trap we laid for this shady spy works - it'd be better if we got rid of them quickly."_

_"Ooh, shady spy. Nice."_

A trap? Natasha jerked back in surprise and hastily backed away. How had they noticed her? Or figured out she'd be coming tonight?

This needed more consideration; she'd come back tomorrow to finish them off when they were confused by her no-show. Darting around a pile of sea containers, her heart clenched painfully when she just about ran into someone. Immediately her training kicked in and she threw herself back several feet, as her unknown assaulter did the same. She drew her knives, ready to take down her enemy as silently and quickly as possible, when logic kicked in at the sight of the man.

He was dressed in dark, comfortable clothing like she was. A knife made of a strange bronze metal hung at his side, and he was crouching in the stance of an expert fighter. Green, green eyes watched her from within the shadows cast by a hood pulled high over his head. Another spy, then. But from which organization?

They both faced off warily, keeping an eye on the other and an ear listening for approaching footsteps. The man's footsteps were as silent as her own, and while he did not have a weapon in his hands, Natasha knew he was just as dangerous, if not more, than her. It was only that, and their precarious situation, that held her back from attacking him right away.

Suddenly the man stiffened, his head cocking as if listening attentively. A moment later Natasha could hear what he was paying attention to: the sound of footsteps coming nearer, and murmuring voices. She was quick to duck around a corner, catching sight of the man doing the same, and waited for them to pass.

When the informants finally did, Natasha recognized as the ones who had been talking around the tables at the center of the warehouse. They disappeared around a corner and a dozen seconds later the sound of their discussion diminished into silence. As soon as she was sure they were gone she stepped around the corner she'd hidden behind - and ducked the gleaming blade of a sword.

The man was upon her immediately, and she barely had time to breathe, never mind wonder where he'd gotten the weapon from. He moved with vicious efficiency, and while his attacks (probably) wouldn't kill her if they connected, they'd incapacitate her and hurt like hell.

She had no intention of getting captured, but this man was far better an opponent than she'd faced in years.

A harsh round house kick made her leap back as the man advanced, followed by a fast thrust of his sword. She deflected the thrust with her knives, sparks coming alive as metal scraped on metal. She responded with a kick of her own, only missing his knee by a few inches when he shifted. Their blades engaged in battle once more and they danced down the shipping container corridor. Though the man held a slightly edge over her, Natasha managed to hold her ground. With an expert twist of her wrist, his sword was sent spinning through the air. Oddly enough the man didn't seem bothered by it; instead he moved to engage her in close combat.

They exchanged a flurry of blows in silence. The man proved to be a master of martial arts and knocked her knives from her hands with a force that made her wrist ache. A kick to the ribs was blocked by an arm that gripped the man's leg and flipped him. He rolled with the movement, spinning low to sweep a leg at her ankles. Natasha jumped but was caught unawares in the air when the man followed up with another spinning kick. It connected with her shoulder, only partially absorbed by her instinctive block.

Pain immediately flared in her shoulder, and she landed unsteadily. Distracted by the throbbing radiating through her torso, her feet fumbled and knocked against a stray pile of metal equipment and stray cans. They toppled over with a loud crash, the sound of metal on metal echoing around the large warehouse.

Both Natasha and the man cringed. She could sense an air of disappointment coming from the man, which she understood. She was ashamed to have made such a rookie mistake.

_"What was that?"_ asked a distant voice. Not distant enough, for them to have heard the noise, but rapidly approaching.

Natasha took a moment to reorient herself, and suddenly there was a hand around her arm tugging her along. In front of her the man didn't even look back at her surprised grunt and continued running. They rounded a corner, and then another without pause. Natasha just about tripped over her own feet when she was yanked to a strop abruptly and pulled in another direction. It seemed they had run into the terrorists still in the building, who were closely following them now. Managing to free her arm form the man's grasp, she glared at him and continued running.

The terrorists' yells were gratingly loud as they kept at their heels. She could sense more joining their numbers distantly, and felt annoyance building up in her. Things were getting out of hand; she needed to go immediately. She could come back tomorrow and just blow sky high...

Suddenly the man stopped. Natasha nearly ran into him but managed to stagger around him. "What are you doing?" She snapped in English, forgetting that the man might not understand.

He just stared at her, and she scowled angrily. Well, it wasn't her problem if he was caught. She ran forwards, turned one of the last corners to the exit - and let out a yelp as a heavy net fell on her.

Immediately the sound of harsh Greek filled her ears, and she struggled as heavy feet rushed towards her. Damn! How had they managed to set up a trap all the way over here? They can't have been intentionally driving her this way! They must have utilized their wild running to have someone climb up onto the scaffolding above.

There was a sting her thigh, and she glanced down to find a feathered dart. She recognized it was as a tranquilizer, and wrenched it out, but was too late. Whatever it was that they'd drugged her with worked fast, and by the time the terrorists had untangled her from the net and tied her up, she was unconscious.

* * *

Natasha woke to bright lights and a pounding headache. As she shifted away from the bright lights, she felt the bite of ropes at her ankles and wrists, and the hard metal of a chair beneath her. Squinting, she glared around the room she was held in - another warehouse office, with sunlight streaming in through the windows and armed guards at the door.

A she wriggled and twitched, the guard took notice and barked out, _"Stay still!" _and waved his Uzi in her direction. The spy got the message quickly enough and scowled as she did as ordered.

The guard growled and spat at the floor at her feet, turning back to his partner. _"Has the boss figured out who this wench is?"_ he asked.

_"Naw," _said the other. _"Can't find a trace of her. Must be from some real top secret place."_

_"I can't believe they sent a woman to take us down!"_

_"Hey now, there was another one. They haven't found him yet, though. Wonder where he went."_

_"Bah, he's probably halfway 'cross the country by now; it's been hours and them spy types don't stick around long."_

The other guard made a sound of agreement but before he could open his mouth, there was a knock at the door. The guard sighed but swung it open. Standing in the hallway was a middle aged man in the same BREK scarf - red with their symbol on the ends - as the ones wrapped around the necks and arms of the guards, and a gun slung over his shoulder. He was holding a pitcher of water and a few plastic cups, and a trolley was pushed off to the side.

_"What d'you want?" _ grunted the guard.

_"Water and food for the prisoner," _said the man with a shrug.

_"Why does she need that?" _

_"The boss is busy, and he said he wanted her to be able to talk or somethin' when he's ready."_ The man nodded in the direction where she presumed the boss was. _"Y'can take it up with the boss if you want."_

The guard looked disgruntled but didn't object. _"Fine, fine,"_ he said.

_"Good. Hold this." _ The man thrust the pitcher and cups into the guard's arms, who fumbled with them before tucking away his gun and grumping holding the items.

The man gestured to the other guard, who was looking amused at his comrade's plight. _"Hey you, help me with this trolley. I think the wheel's all jammed and it's a bitch to move."_

The guard rolled his eyes but did as asked. The man paused a moment to meet Natasha's eyes before turning away, leaving the assassin stunned.

She recognized those eyes. They were the same shade of green as the mysterious sword-wielding man she'd fought earlier.

There was a sudden crackle - like moulding ice - but it was soon explained by the man's announcement of, _"Ah, got the wheel. Hey, other guy, come put the pitcher over here."_

The guard's eye twitched in anger, but he too disappeared from sight. There was a startled, "_What!"_ that was cut off by a thump and yet another crackle.

A moment later the man came back into view, juggling a serrated knife. He approached Natasha without hesitation and slit the ropes neatly. He backed away and eyed her and she got to her feet. "You alright?"

"Fine," she said slowly. Rubbing her wrists she hesitantly followed him out the door and couldn't stop her eyebrows from shooting skyward at what she saw. There were the two guards, unconscious and frozen to the wall. The spider web of ice over them was thick, and held them more securely than any handcuffs.

"You have a freeze ray or something on you?" she asked the man, who was helping himself to the food that was still on the trolley.

"Or something," he said with an amused quirk of his lips. Stuffing the last of the piece of probably stale bread in his mouth he trotted off. Unsure of what else to do, she followed him. As they traversed the warehouse, they came across no terrorists - at least, none that were conscious or alive.

Stepping over the final pile of still bodies, they emerged into fresh air. Natasha kept a close eye on the man as he let out a large sigh and yanked off the BREK scarf he'd obviously 'borrowed.' She tensed when he turned to face her.

"So," he asked, "why'd SHIELD send you out here?"

At that question, Natasha first reaction was to attack, but even as her body lunged forward her instincts told her that this was not a fight she could win.

Managing to restrain herself before she took more than a step forward, she glared at the man. "How do you know that?" she said coldly.

The man just scratched his cheek. "Well, I am aware of SHIELD's top agents, Miss Black Widow. Do you still have a communication thingy on you? You can call Coulson for a pick up before I talk to him.

Feeling foolish and totally swept up in the man's pace, she reluctantly handed over the emergency device that was threaded into her hair tie. The man expertly cracked it open and contacted her handler with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.

They waited approximately three seconds before Phil's soothing voice came online. "Black Widow, what's your status?"

The man grinned, "Hey, Phil!" was his relaxed greeting. "How's it going? Oh, don't worry, your agent's fine - she's probably got a monster headache from the tranquiliser BREK shot her with, but she seems alright."

A massive sight came from Phil. "Mr. Jackson," he said, sounding tired and amused in that way all handlers were when they figured that they should be surprised but they really weren't. "I'm assuming you're calling for transport?"

"Of course."

"Someone will be there in," a pause and the sound of murmuring in the background, "thirty minutes. Be ready for a debriefing when you come in."

"Sure," said Jackson, disconnecting and tossing the hair tie back to Natasha. He sat down on an upturned barrel, idly flipping a pen in his hand; she wasn't sure where it had come from. "So," he said, "how's the weather back in Washington been lately?"

* * *

The wait for the pickup team had felt a lot longer than it should have, as had the two hour flight to the Helicarrier's location hovering over the Atlantic. A medic had been waiting for them at their arrival. Natasha was taken to the med bay for a check over, while Jackson was whisked off elsewhere. After enduring twenty minutes of the doctor harping in her ears, she managed to escape and find Coulson. He was sitting in the mess hall, enjoying his lunch while reading a report.

Speaking of such things... "Sire, when should I go inform Director Fury about Jackson and hand in my mission report?"

Phil calmly scraped the last of his soup from the bowl with crust of his bread and chewed slowly as she sat down. When he finished, he cleared his throat and levelled a _look_ at her. "It would be best waited until later to report, Natasha. Mr. Fury is otherwise engaged at the moment."

Natasha huffed and stalked off. Despite the advice, she decided to talk to the Director anyway, and made for his private office. When she reached it, she was surprised to see no one in the hallway, agents passing by or guards, and crept to the door. Inside she could hear voices talking, and was surprised when she recognized the one conversing with Fury.

"...wasn't expecting them to have their hands in _that_ side of things too," Fury was saying.

"I know, we were pretty surprised when they popped up, what with it being such a small community focused on _surviving_, mostly. To have contacts on both sides of the mortal plane..." came Jackson's voice.

"If only I'd known where exactly the damn council was sending agents; we'd be able to avoid mix ups like these." There was a heavy sigh, followed by soft laughter.

"It's alright - it's probably better that it was me instead of some half-assed team that would've freaked at the smallest trace of an unknown."

There was a throaty chuckle, unlike any other that Natasha had ever heard her boss emit, and soft footsteps. There was silence, then Jackson let out a small hum and said, "You've been far too busy with work lately, Nick."

At the sound of the Director's first name coming from the stranger, Natasha couldn't hold back any more and slammed open the door. Immediately there was a flurry of activity, but the assassin paid no mind to the gun pointed at her head or the sword that had mysteriously appeared; instead she was more shocked by the position the two men were still (somewhat) in.

Jackson, the complete unknown with bright green eyes, was leaning against Fury's precious desk - the one he guarded so zealously - with the dark-skinned Director looming over him. Even with their bodies twisted towards her and their weapons drawn, it was blatantly obvious how intimately comfortable they had been, and still were.

Fury's good eye glinted maliciously at her for interrupting. "Romanov," he growled, as Jackson sighed and rested his head on his shoulder.

Natasha instinctively squirmed under the harsh glare, even as her conscious mind whispered, _I guess this is what Clint was chuckling and lording about, huh?_

God, she hoped how he'd met Jackson wasn't as insane as her experience.

* * *

**AN - Things have been kind of crazy lately - I'm moving houses, so we're patching up the one we're in now to sell it faster. Lots of crap to do, and I've been sick a ton. Not really excuses, I know. I actually had this written out a week ago, but I got a sty (a clogged gland in the eye that makes it swell up and hurts) and it's hard to type properly while holding a warm clothe over your eye :P Not my best work.**

**But anyway, hope you liked it. Leave a review to let me know what you think!**

* * *

Up next: HOW THOR MET


	12. Chapter 12 - How Thor Met Him (Jane)

**AN - So I'm finally back. It's been... a while. I'm not going to make a ton of excuses, but a lot has happened these past couple months: **

**I moved houses (just finishing up now), tore my ACL (important muscle in the knee) playing rugby, had exams that just finished (and I took them with a head cold, ugh), and yes, I did procrastinate. So, blah. This is finally done. **

**I'm not so sure about how satisfied I am with this chapter, but I came up with four different concepts before going with this one so yeah. It's plenty long enough, I suppose. **

**I have more free time from now on, so I'll try to update faster, but I can't make any promises :P**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything.**

**WARNING: Slash! Yaoi! MxM! Whatever you call it, it's here and I'm worried if you haven't realised that by now. **

* * *

**HOW THOR MET HIM (+ JANE)**

Thor loved his friends. He really did. They were intelligent, funny and confident mortals… But that was just it.

They were mortals.

Sometimes, as a demigod, he found himself oppressed by the concerns of his friends. He was not yet used to their problems, which seemed so small to him. Little things like due dates or appointments slipped his mind because time held so little worth to a race that lived for eons, and jobs and chores had never been relevant to him because he was _prince_. He didn't have to worry about working for money or keeping the house clean.

Here on Midgard, with his beloved Jane and her friends Lady Darcy and the man of science Erik Selvig, all these things were important. He wasn't used to it, and sometimes he just needed to escape. So while his Lady Jane was sleeping peacefully in their bed, he slipped out the front door and with a whirl of Mjolnir disappeared into the night sky.

Thor had discovered a haunt that pleased him several months ago, just shortly after finding his way back to Midgard. It was on the eastern side of the country, far by a mortal's standards, but with Mjolnir and its powers of flight he arrived within an hour. It was a small inlet by the coast, where fresh ocean air rushed over the rocks and met with the trees and the dull roar of the waves was a soothing background. He settled on the shore, enjoying the smell that brought back memories of his home of Asgard and the waters about the city, and watched the moon make its journey across the sky.

It, surprisingly, took him ten minutes to realize he had company. He would later admit that he only realized he was not alone when he heard a muffle curse and the thump of something hitting the ground, but he liked to think that he felt the man's presence as he approached his back. Startled at the noise, he whirled about and saw a man sprawled on the ground, several feet behind him and face in the damp sand. He was dressed in the dark trousers often called 'jeans' by the mortals and a sea-green cotton shirt that draped loosely over muscled shoulders. A bag was by his side, its flap misshapen by something inside it.

Of course, Thor's warrior training took over, because this man had been sneaking up behind him (quite successfully) and he could be dangerous. Leaping to his feet, he brandished Mjolnir and darted forward to snatch the man's bag from him. Tossing it behind him, he faced the man down warily.

"Who are you?" he boomed. "For what reason did you attempt to sneak up on me?"

The man groaned and lifted his head. Sand stuck to his black hair, and he brushed the filth from his face before glancing up at Thor. Bright green eyes met Thor's, and they would have reminded him of his brother's if they hadn't held more sea-like qualities and the spark that all mortals had. Something crawled along his skin, the sense of _something-not-human_ unsettling the Asgardian prince even more. The man blinked blearily, looking rather harmless, then let out a put-upon sigh and got to his feet. The fluid grace he did so made Thor shift in his fighting stance, ready for a fight should this skilled man attack him.

The man scrubbed the sand from his hair and smiled abashedly at Thor, green eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Sorry, I didn't quite think; I was just surprised someone was here, that's all. Then I tripped on some log, and well," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

The answer would have reassured Thor and confirmed his suspicions that this man was just another Midgardian who had wandered astray, if he hadn't known better. _Lie_, his senses told him.

"Do not lie, mortal!" He said sharply. The uneasy skitter along his flesh seemed to deny _mortal_ and he fought back a shiver. Mjolnir glinted and he tightened his grasp and raised it slightly.

The man's smile immediately disappeared and he put his hands up to show that he meant no harm. He said seriously, "I just saw you there, and I thought you might have been dangerous. I was being careful."

Thor growled, his princely attitude rearing his head at the man's blasé response. "What actions of mine earned your caution, mortal?" he said. "Do not insult me as to say such things."

The man frowned, eyes sweeping over the demigod's slightly arrogant posture and stiff scowl. "I meant no offense, though your own presumptuousness tests my patience," he said, adopting the demigod's regal speech patterns.

Thor ground his teeth. Normally he would be in a much better mood and not bothered the man past a few questions, but he was tired of having to slip away from his lady in the middle of the night like a vagabond and biting his tongue at the concerns of mortals. This man… he only agitated Thor's already worn composure. "I tire of your presence," he told the mortal. "Leave this place!"

The man's lips curled back from his teeth in a startling snarl, and Thor startled minutely when he felt the humming running along his flesh throb. "Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" He said, eyes narrowing, and he took a step towards Thor.

The throbbing on Thor's skin increased to a painful amount, and without any consideration towards his actions he swung Mjolnir and flicked it at the mortal. To his surprise the man only leapt aside and let the small bolt of lightning the hammer had produced dance past him. His actions only confirmed Thor's thoughts that this man was not a mortal like he seemed.

He sent more bolts at him, but he just ducked and backpedaled with practiced ease. Before Thor could realise it the man was suddenly pressing close, and the demigod had to stumble back to avoid being sliced by a sword that had suddenly appeared in the man's hand. Somewhat abashedly realising that his time on Midgard had dulled his skills, Thor attempted to keep the man at a distance where his deadly sword could not reach him. Normally he would not have fought such a distanced battle, but his body was much more vulnerable in its half-mortal state, and his lack of armor was something he was not used to.

They fought back and forth, both with frustration simmering under their skin. They came ever closer to the sea until they reached the edge of the cliffs that framed the shallow inlet. There the spray licked at their ankles and made the rock slippery under foot, and both of them lost their balance more than once.

As they approached the waters crashing at the rocks below, Thor felt the throbbing on his skin increase until it made him itch and burn, and he bared his teeth. With a mighty swing of his hammer he brought up a wind and a bolt of lightning that struck the ground at the man's feet and set him tumbling. He hit the rocks once, flipped up into the air, and sailed over the cliff edge. He plunged downwards and towards the tumultuous waters below, and Thor watched him tumble head over heels. When he was almost at the surface, the water rose up to meet him. It cushioned his sudden halt, and cradled him as he sunk into the frothy waters. As he disappeared from sight, his green eyes – luminous now that he was shrouded by the dark sea – remained locked with Thor's until the Asgardian could see him no more.

He stood there on the cliff, heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline, then he slowly loosened his grip on Mjolnir. He became aware of the stinging of several cuts the not-mortal had given him, and the last dregs of his frustration slipped away as he scowled down at the sodden state of his pants. He turned his glare to the waters that remained as barren as they had before, with no sign of the not-mortal.

The not-mortal. Who had been rather friendly and peaceful, until Thor had proved him. The not-mortal, who had displayed very not-mortal powers that were unlike any he'd seen on Midgard, powers that reached into the realm of godhood. The not-mortal that Thor had scared off, and was who knew where.

Thor took the moment of utilise a word he'd recently learned from an exasperated Jane:

"Fuck."

o'(.0.)'o

Of course, that had been the first time they met, but that wasn't the time when Thor got to _know _Percy. For the weeks that followed the encounter the mysterious man had been referred to as the not-mortal, as Thor had no allusions as to what the man's name was. Their next encounter was two months later, during a shopping trip in a bustling town near New York. Jane and Thor were there for Jane's research, and they had taken the opportunity to explore the town's shopping district.

The commotion started not long after lunch. The café Thor and Jane had seated themselves had a nice calming air, and it was disrupted by the sound of screams.

At the terrified cries, Thor's head jerked up and he looked around wildly for the source of the panic. Down the street, a horde of people were running their way, looks of horror on their faces. As they drew closer, Thor could hear their distressed words of: "Animals! They've escaped from the zoo!"

Thor blinked. That was not what he'd been expecting.

But as the crowd of civilians pushed past them, Thor pulled Jane close and peered at what was behind the mortals. Once they cleared out, Thor's eyes widened.

"Jane," he asked his lady, "why is it that your people constantly find reason to trap wild beasts in unnatural habitats for spectator amusement? Especially when they can escape as they have now?"

"Thor!" shrieked Jane. "Now's not the time to talk about that – there are _lions_ coming this way!"

"Are there not tigers and bears in these menageries as well?"

"_Thor!_"

But as they retreated to a safer area, Thor's godly senses began to tingle and he narrowed his eyes at the beasts. The images flickered before his eyes, once, twice – and then the wild animals disappeared from sight and were replaced with something else: monsters. They were creatures unlike any Thor had ever seen upon Midgard and had the throbbing feel of _myth_, much like the not-mortal all those weeks ago.

Thor turned to Jane, gripping his love's shoulders tightly. His eyes no longer danced with humor, and he stared down at her, grim-faced. "Jane, you must find someplace secure," he told her, voice low. "These… they are not mortal animals."

"Thor?" Before Jane could ask anymore, the Asgardian left her in the café and ventured out onto the street. He was confident that Jane would be able to get herself to a safe place – she was intelligent and had a will of iron. Turning to face the hoard of creatures, he cursed himself for leaving Mjolnir in the bed of Jane's truck. He had thought that for maybe one day he and Jane would be able to have regular day without otherworldly interruptions, but apparently _not_. Honestly, what was it with Midgard and spectacular happenings?

Now that the creatures were closer, he could see that the crowd seemed to be mostly made up of large hounds, with coats of mottled black and grey fur. They were large, the smallest the size of a shopping cart and the largest nearing a truck. He could see the gleam of their teeth in their open maws and the fleck of spittle even from such a distance, and their eyes were a deep, feral red.

"What in the name of the All Father?" Thor murmured to himself, forehead furrowing. He strode to the nearest building, an old brick apartment complex, and ripped the heavy iron railing from the fire escape staircase along the wall. It was several feet long and made of strong metal, and would serve as a satisfactory weapon against such beasts.

At least, that was what Thor was hoping…

The street was empty of mortals, the humans having thankfully cleared out for once. The hounds seemed to moving without direction, just blinding rushing down the road and looking for anything that they might devour. Thor's hands grew sweaty as he gripped the metal rail tightly. He knew nothing about these creatures, and yet he had to face them down without any aid…

Nevertheless, he was Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, and to protect realms such as Midgard was his duty. He rolled his shoulders, and with a deep breathe, began to run to the charging beasts. Seeing their large fangs barred at him and their red eyes glinting, his heart began to speed up and adrenaline hummed through his veins. The heady feel of battle that he was so familiar with sang in his bones and he opened his mouth to let out Asgard's royal war cray. He felt more alive and like the battle prince he was in this moment than he had any other time on Midgard. He was ready to let the world hear his cry of triumph and bloodlust, and to make these creatures shake and turn in fear.

He was so ready, in fact, that he was entirely unprepared from something to swoop out of the sky and nearly knock him flat on his back as it landed in front of him. Thor felt his heart lurch and his mighty war cry quickly turned into a yelp of shock as he stumbled over his own feet. He felt as if the floor had been yanked out beneath him and he took a moment to quickly recover his senses. Once he was sure his heart wasn't going to rupture from the sudden shock, he glanced up with both annoyance and gratitude in his eyes, intending to thank the person who'd come to his aid but nearly sent him into heart failure.

His 'saviour' was a man whose identity was obscured by a helm he wore, but he could see that he was in his middle years. He was strong and wore a green Midgardian shirt beneath a burnished breast plate and had his back to Thor. He was astride a tall, muscular Pegasus that was the color of midnight, and was equipped with silver armor. There were no reins, only thick, dove-grey ribbons that attacked to the face plate of the armor, but they did not offer any control over the creature. There was a dark leather saddle with blue-grey accents and tiny bells along the saddle blanket to finish the war outfit. The man sat in the saddle with ease, like he was made to be astride a horse, and faced down the crowd of monsters fearlessly. He seemed to be gripping a sword, but it was held low and Thor couldn't see it beyond the horse.

Getting got his feet, Thor nodded gratefully to the man. "Thank you, comrade." He would have liked to inquire about the man's identity, but the battle field was not a place for such trivial questions.

The man turned to look at him and green eyes met him own. The sight of them tugged at a memory lurking in the back of his mind, but he pushed the sensation aside when the man nodded in reply. He gripped the ribbons in one hand and without prompting the pegasus unfolded its wings and made an eerie sound between a whiny and a snarl at the hounds. The man drew a short sword from a sheath hanging on the saddle and tossed it to Thor, who fumbled briefly but caught it. He paused only to say, "Your iron won't do anything," before he was thundering towards the hounds.

Thor frowned after the man, but shrugged it aside and brought both the sword and the rail to meet the onslaught of the hounds. To his shock, instead of piercing through a hound's chest, the jagged end of the rail skittered off and did not damage. The short sword however drew black colored blood from the throat of another hound, and the creature howled before it burst into gold dust. Coughing in disgust as the dust got into his mouth; he tossed aside the rail and gripped the sword with both hands. He managed to flawlessly take down several more beasts before one lunged at him from behind and sliced his shoulder with a razor sharp claw. Crying out, Thor spun and tried to kill it, but it leapt forward before he could find his balance and snarled.

It was beat back just in time by flailing hooves, and the Pegasus pranced in front of him protectively. Thor took the moment to catch his breath and press a hand to his bloody shoulder, watching the man maneuver the horse expertly. He slew the hounds effortlessly and with the ease of experience, fearless in his opposition. Only one beast managed to get close enough to do harm, locking its jaw around the man's free arm and pulling him down from the saddle. The man let out an inarticulate yell and his helmet hit the ground with a crash as he wrestled with the hound to free him arm. Thor was quick to react and rush to his aid, plunging his sword deep into the flesh of the hound's hackles.

The beast howled and disintegrated, and for a moment all Thor could see was a cloud of dust. He heard coughing from his comrade in arms, and he waved his arms to disperse the gold dust. The heavy cloud blew away after a moment and Thor finally found himself face to face with his fellow warrior.

Ah, by the beard of the All Father; no wonder the man's eyes had seemed so familiar. It was the not-mortal that stood before him.

The man stared at him for a moment, seeing the recognition on the Asgardian's face, and turned to run off. Thor jumped at the sudden movement and hurried after him. "Wait!" he called out, "not-mortal, wait! I wish you no harm!"

The man snorted and continued to run, stepping through the piles of gold dust that were gradually disappearing. "Yeah right!" he yelled over his shoulder.

"Not-mortal, I speak the truth! Our first encounter was a mistake on my part! I, the royal prince Thor of Asgard, apologize for my misconduct!" There, that ought to earn him the man's attention, and maybe a moment of conversation to clear up their misunderstanding.

"Fuck! Another god! Why?"

Or perhaps not.

"Not-mortal! If you would just converse with me for a moment, then all stains shall be cleared from our record!" Thor ran as quickly as he could, his partially-Asgardian body quick to bring him closer to the still running man. The not-mortal let out a frustrated cry and a moment later the Pegasus swooped out of the sky to run alongside him. Thor watched with half-concealed admiration as the man managed to mount the steed without stopping.

"We have no record!" shouted the man, readying to urge the Pegasus into the skies. The horse took one leaping stride, then another, and they were just coming off the ground when there was a screech and something nearly rammed into them from the side.

The man let out a startled yell as the Pegasus struggled to reposition itself so that instead of getting hit by the truck that had appeared from a back alley, it scrambled across the hood and tumbled to the ground on the other side.

Thor felt dread coil in his gut. He knew that truck.

"Thor!" cried Jane as she climbed from the driver's seat. She had a mildly frightened look on her face but moved with purpose nonetheless. Her hair was horribly tangled under her beanie, and she stood uncertainly behind the opened car door. "Did I hit it?"

Thor just stood with his mouth open, eyes locked on the dark form on the other side of the truck. "Was it a moose?" Jane continued to babble, tugging at her hair. "It looked big enough; I didn't know they had moose in the zoo here. Is it dead?"

There was a groan, and the form shifted. The not-mortal managed to get to his feet and began to run his hands over his steed, checking for injuries. He levelled a glower their way, his face set in hard lines. "No." he said flatly.

'What?" Jane blinked at the sight of the man, then rubbed at her eyes like she was clearing fog from her vision. "Ah!" she cried a moment later. "That's a Pegasus!"

Jane's exclamation was all it took to free Thor from his state of shock, and he rushed around the truck to the man. "Not-mortal, are you all right? Do you need aid? What of your steed, does it - " He jerked back as a sword was suddenly levelled to his throat. The man stared him down with cool green eyes, slowly getting to his feet and keeping Thor at sword point. There was a loud snort, and the Pegasus got to its feet with ease. Thor narrowed his eyes at the beast, which seemed to whicker at him mockingly. So, the horse had been faking it to draw him closer in a state of unwariness.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "Why did you attack me last time?"

Thor slowly took a step back and bowed slightly. "I am Thor Odinson, a Prince of Asgard and warrior of the realm. I formally apologize for my earlier behaviour; it was most unbecoming. Will you do me an honor and forgive me?" he said.

The man eyed him for a moment, and seeing the honesty on Thor's face let out an explosive sigh. He withdrew his sword and touched something to the tip. It retracted in on itself and became a small pen that the man tucked into his pocket. Thor regarded it with fascination. There were not many items of such potent magic on Midgard…

"Hey, warrior of the realm, get your girlfriend and her truck. We need to get out of here."

Thor jerked when the man addressed him, and nodded. Hurrying back to Jane, who was standing uncertainly by the truck with a bemused look on her face, he told her, "Quickly, my lovely Jane, into the metal carriage. We must leave before the mortals come across us."

True to his word, they could already hear the sirens approaching. Jane just looked at him for a moment before she rolled her eyes and got into the driver's seat. Thor got in beside her and she started the car she said, "Is this more of your god stuff?"

Thor sighed as he fastened his seat belt and stared at the not-mortal who was waiting patiently at the end of the alley, settled on his horse. The man made for them to follow and trotted down another side road. "I believe so," he said. "The man is not a threat, but he is not mortal."

"Not mortal? What do you mean?" asked Jane, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Thor glanced at his lovely lady. "You do not know of everything that lives on this mortal plane, Jane. There is much more than just my realm in the cosmos." At least, that was what he had gathered from what he'd seen of the man's powers and fighting skills. He did not know of which mortal plane the man came from.

The not-mortal stopped several minutes later, when they were far from the sirens and deep in a twisted maze of deserted alley. He dismounted and watched as Thor and Jane got out of the truck. The Asgardian and his beloved leaned against the hood of the car and eyed the man.

"So who are you?" asked Jane.

The man sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Now that his senses were not preoccupied by battle, Thor could feel the familiarly flavored thrum of mythical presence on his skin, and took in the man's appearance with greater focus. He had golden skin, the sign of someone who enjoyed the outdoors, and a lithely muscled figure. His hair was black and hung in messy curls, and brilliantly white teeth made an appearance when he sent a smile Thor and Jane's way.

"My name is Percy Jackson," he told them. Beside Jane, Thor stiffened imperceptibly. "Just give me a minute and we can talk more; I need to contact someone."

Thor leapt upon the chance to give the man space and tugged Jane around to the other side of the truck. The woman arched an eyebrow at him as he suddenly began muttering and tugging at his hair. "Thor, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Jane!" Thor whispered urgently. "That is Perseus Jackson! I just encountered Perseus Jackson!" He paced the length of the truck, a frenzied look on his face.

"Thor, Thor, calm down. What's the big deal about him – Perseus Jackson? Why's he so important?"

"But _Jane_! That is Perseus Jackson – a warrior most noble and powerful! Tales of his deeds are sung loud and lengthy in the golden halls of Asgard; he is legend of the Midgardian mythical plane. Son of Poseidon, the Earthshaker, the Journeyman of the Underworld, the Razer of Tartarus! He is a hero of Midgard many times over – and I sent him over a cliff edge!"

"You did _what_?"

"It was many weeks ago, a misunderstanding between the both of us. And now he may think badly of me! What shall I do?"

"Thor! Honestly, just calm down; if he's as 'noble' as you say he is then he should understand that it was all just a mistake. Though you should apologize…"

"Uh, excuse me?"

Thor and Jane turned at the faintly amused question, seeing the man in question standing at the hood of the truck. He gave them a small smile, seeming friendly enough, and held out his hand for Thor to shake. "You're Thor, right? God of Thunder and all that?"

Thor's face split with a huge grin and he grasped the man's hand firmly, shaking it enthusiastically. "Indeed! It is an honor to be shield brothers with you, Perseus Jackson! You and your steed fight most magnificently, just as the legends that also speak of your valour and prowess say!"

Percy winced at the use of his full name and the mention of his legends. He expertly extricated his hand from Thor's energetic shaking. "I don't suppose you'd consider calling me Percy, would you?"

"Of course not!"

Jane watched, amused, as the man turned away slightly, muttering under his breath. "Damn it, these gods just keep multiplying."

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**AN - So, we had a little Jane special this chapter. I have a big list planned out of all the characters who are to get their own chapters, with tons of bonuses. **

**I might put up a poll on my profile to narrow down which bonuses will be incorporated. There's a lot, and I don't know if I will be able to write all of them... I'll let you know if the poll is put up. **

**Also, I had some friends look over this and they said the spelling is weird - that's cause they're American. I'm Canadian, I mostly use the Canadian English spelling, so it might look a little different for you American folks. It's relatively close so it's not like you won't understand, but that's just to clear up any misunderstandings. Hope you don't have any trouble with that. **

**More of Percy's bar next chapter, with fancy liquors. Thanks to many reviewers who have given me ideas for them. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **

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**Want to listen to the music I type to while you read or do other stuff? Go on Youtube to the channel Pandora Journey or Epic Music, and it's pretty much any mix under 'Epic Music.' Love it.**

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**If you REVIEW, it gives me a sense of URGENCY and OBLIGATION. That is a good thing for you readers. So please review.**

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**UP NEXT: How Thor Found Out**


	13. Chapter 13 - How Thor Found Out

**AN: So, I'm back this soon. Only 11 days. Yay! **

**This was a lot easier to write than I thought. My Thor inspiration finally came in. Hopefully nobody's OC. I'm still dissatisfied with last chapter. I'm sorry that some of you guys are too; it was disappointing and definitely not my best work...**

**Take this as a present then!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from either of these series! Duh!**

**WARNINGS: Slash, obviously. **

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**HEADS UP: There is some content referring to a sexual situation. If that makes you uncomfortable, I apologise. But it is NOT EXPLICIT. Just some teasing, that's all. No flames people, I've warned you now.**

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**HOW THOR FOUND OUT**

"Perseus!" called Thor, a hearty grin on his face, "this brew is most excellent!"

Across the bar counter, Percy gave his friend a smile as he busied himself with pouring his customers his drinks. The bartender was in a good mood, and had a good reason – he was getting good business, his good friend Thor was here, and in four days Nick would be getting back from his three week long mission in Argentina. Humming cheerfully, he passed down the drinks – for his regulars it was a group of Nike's Valour's, Sultan of the Skies' and a few regular beers. "It's the same as always, Thor. Just 'Talons.'" He told the God of Thunder, motioning to the now empty glass of brandy.

"Yes, but I find it most pleasing!" Thor said to him, eyes twinkling. "Another!" He raised his arm out of habit, but a glare from Percy made him freeze.

"Don't you dare," the bartender said, tone dark. He'd learned his lesson when Thor had unthinkingly smashed one of his best glasses in a drunken stupor as a gesture of appreciation. The Asgardian now had a firm understanding that Midgardian culture did not consider smashed glassware a well-meaning sign.

Thor gently placed the glass on the counter and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for his friend to refill it. As the amber dark amber liquid swirled in the glass, Thor watched the other occupants on the bar. It was half-full and had the smoky smell of a bar of conversation and relaxation. He knew that by now he was a regular sight for most of the regulars, and when he was sure that they were all engaged in their activities, he leaned forward to catch Percy's attention.

"I will be leaving for a time," he said in a low voice.

"Oh?" One of Percy's eyebrows arched towards the ceiling. "Returning home for a while?"

"Yes. There are some matters that require my input, and the court is getting restless in my absence."

Percy made a face, but nodded and smiled at his friend. "Ah, politics. But you just do what you must. The bar will be open to you when you return."

The Asgardian prince grinned, relieved that he would have somewhere to retreat to after an exhausting visit, no doubt.

Percy left the topic for something more lighthearted, and gave Thor a confiding smirk. "So, guess what I overheard last week…"

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

Thor had been right – the trip to Asgard was very arduous indeed. It was late at night when he finally arrived back on Midgard with a roll of thunder and flash of light. He'd landed just outside the city in order to disturb less people, and standing there in the middle of the still landscape he decided that his urge for a drink and company far exceeded his need for rest. He flew swiftly to New York, coming to a quiet halt at the end of Bourbon Street. He walked the few blocks between him and Percy's bar – only to frown at the darkened windows and tightly shut door. It was not terribly late, so there was no reason for people _not_ to be at the tavern.

Well, if Percy was not here he must be at his flat. Feeling worry tickle at the back of his mind, he took off with a swing of Mjolnir and settled down in the back alley behind Percy's apartment.

The windows were dark here as well. Furrowing his brow, Thor crept around to the front step and peered through the windows in the door. He felt a bit odd doing so, and knew he was definitely invading Percy's personal space, but he was starting to become concerned.

Sitting by the hutch were Percy's boots, a familiar pair of comfortable leather boots. His coat was also hung on the hook nearby, so the bartender was home. But, something was wrong…

There! An unfamiliar coat was slung neatly over the back of a chair in the kitchen, something that he could just barely see. Percy was fond of only have one or two of each thing, so Thor knew pretty much them all – and that coat was not one of them.

Someone was in Percy's apartment.

It took barely any effort for Thor to creep around to one of the windows and pry it open. The window was stiff with disuse and the well-made locks that Percy had on every entrance to his house, but they were no match for his godly strength. He padded out of the kitchen, glaring at the offending coat as he went. The house was still and everything seemed to be in place. The armchairs by the fireplace were untouched, as was the oak wood dining table and its tasteful centerpiece. The clock over the mantel chimed softly, signifying that it was coming close to eleven at night, and Thor used the sound of the gentle ringing to cover his footsteps as he quickly checked the rest of the floor. No one was hiding in the bathroom or the pantry room. Percy's floor to ceiling fish tank was as flawless as always, and nothing seemed upturned near the stairs. He began to ascend them cautiously, treading near the walls so that the old wood would not creak.

In the silence of his movements, there was a thump from upstairs and muffled voices.

Thor stiffened and tried to glide up the stairs as quickly as silent movement would allow. What could be going on upstairs? Was Percy being interrogated? Was he trapped in a room with no escape? Was he being attacked?

He could just imagine him – his dear friend pinned to the ground, hands and feet held down by some inexplicable force and his head forced back. A knife point or gun would be held to his throat, and a shadowed figure looming over him, a malicious expression on his face. He could practically feel his friend's fear – held tight and locked in the back of his mind but still present!

Poor Percy.

(Never mind the fact that Percy was a hero with numerous legendary deeds to his name – including returning peace and godly artifacts to the Lord of Olympus, banishing the great Titan King Kronos, or his many adventures to that darkest depths of the Underworld, all in his teenage years.)

He reached the top of the stairs and examined the area. The open area with the second, always-unlit hearth off to the left was empty and still. The door to the office just across from it was open, and he could only see Percy's desk and its messed papers; no attacker. But there on the floor was an unfamiliar pair of loafers haphazardly thrown about – expensive, fine leather and just a few sizes too big to be Percy's. A few feet away was a sweater Thor knew to be his friend's, thanks to the distinctive water swirl on the front. It had been crumpled up and tossed aside carelessly.

Percy was never as careless as to leave clothes lying around on the floor. Maybe on the back of a couch, but folded neatly and never in the way of anybody.

Someone other than Percy had gotten their hands on him.

He crept down to the hallway where all the bedroom doors opened to. His shadow fell out behind him, cast by the light streaming through the window with the seat at the end.

There was another thump, coming from the master bedroom to his left, and more voices. They were low, indistinct and rough, but Thor managed to recognize one as Percy. He sounded much more strangled and pre-occupied than usual. The other voice answered, deep as it chuckled darkly.

That was it. Thor had reached the end of his stealth-tether; screw being cautious and silent. His good Midgardian friend was on the other side of the door, and he had no reason to wait when it was certain that he was being held under strenuous circumstances.

The door gave in with a satisfying crunch to the sole of Thor's boot. The heavy wood swung limply on the hinges that it had almost blasted off of and revealed the dark interior of the bedroom.

It was like Thor's imagined image had walked from his mind and taken form in reality, with only a few alterations. Two shadowed forms were on the floor at the foot of the bed, one's back pressed to the bed frame and the other kneeling at its feet. As the figure at the foot of the bed looked up, Thor caught sight of familiar green eyes – Percy. Next for him to notice was that Percy's' hands were not restrained; rather they were pressing tightly into the shoulders of the other figure. Maybe he was trying to push the other away?

The other figure jerked at the sound of the door splintering apart, but Thor had still seen it as it originally was. It – a man? – had seemed to be bent over Percy's torso, face dangerously close to the bartender's chest. He had dark skin, and wore neatly pressed black pants.

Only black pants.

The Asgardian quickly became aware of the rumpled silk shirt that he was standing on, and Percy's belt that was somehow halfway across the room, caught on the handle of the wardrobe. Percy's shirt was still on his person, but barely; it was shoved up to his arm pits, and his pants were still on but loose. Percy's hands, now that he looked more closely, were not pushing but merely resting, his fingers curling sharply. He could vaguely make out fresh bruises in the shape of teeth marks on his friend's chest.

Oh.

Mjolnir slipped a bit in his grasp, and the sparks that had been running along the hammer sputtered out pathetically.

_Oh._

He cleared his throat as green eyes and black ones glared at him accusingly. Percy looked far more venomous than practically any other time he'd seen him.

Thor cleared his throat, looking away with a flush on his cheeks. "I apologise greatly, friend Perseus. I will just be going; the window in the place of cooking is still - "

"_Thor."_

Gods damn it all.

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

The parlor floor was very interesting. The old wood had a great deal of unique scuffs and scratches in it, all with their own stories; that one right there, beside his foot, was from when he accidentally dropped Mjolnir when he'd first encountered Percy's 'Iris message.' He had been greatly embarrassed.

But not as embarrassed as he was now.

Thor fidgeted uncomfortably in the armchair. He could feel the heavy gaze of the dark man from the bed room on his shoulders, like an unpleasant itch that had been placed there by his own actions. The sounds of Percy puttering in the kitchen as he prepared some refreshments for them broke the awkward silence in the apartment, but not the atmosphere. Thor twiddled his thumbs, for once acting nothing like the prince he was, and nervously thought over what had been explained to him.

The man across from him was Percy's lover. Boyfriend, partner, chosen one, whatever title they used. They had known each over for several years, and cared about each other very much. The man had a very busy job that often took him out of town, and whenever he returned they 'redisplayed' their care. Which Thor had walked in on, thankfully before it got far.

The man was Nick Fury, head of SHIELD.

Thor had walked in on _Nick Fury._ The spy of all spies.

With his shield brother, Percy.

Thor had to suppress the awkward cough that wanted to rise in his throat. God, why could he not _forget_?

Percy walked back in with several glasses of ice water, and Thor gratefully accepted his. He gulped it down, hoping to relieve the itch of more awkward coughs at the back of his throat, but only managed to cause his head to rush unpleasantly.

He bit back a grimace as Percy asked, "Do you have any questions?" The bartender was acting rather blunt, compared to his usual self. Earlier he had been nervous, but had quickly relaxed when Thor expressed no ill feelings about his relationship with another man. Honestly, such relations were not all that unaccepted in Asgard. With a race of people who lived for millennia at a time, being limited to only one gender for love was… idiotic, really. It was uncommon, but not unexpected.

So now Percy was just tired and wanted Thor out of his house. And he probably wanted to not see him for several days, so he could fume over his interrupted time with Nick. Thor had to admit, he was more than willing to comply with those wishes.

The Asgardian prince shook his head and got to his feet. "Ah, no. I believe it is time I leave; I will see you after I have returned to Jane for a time, Percy. Do excuse me." Then he rushed out of the parlor regardless of what Percy's answer was. He heard a heavy sigh, but didn't slow his journey to the front door. As he pulled on his shoes (which he had discarded before the conversation), he heard footsteps come up behind him and hoped it wasn't Percy who stood there.

His boots on, he turned, and swallowed thickly. It was not Percy, but it was worse. It was Nick.

The dark-skinned spy had a flat expression on his face as he regarded Thor. The Norse god shuffled uneasily and inconspicuously reached for the doorknob behind his back. Nick watched for a moment, then dropped down the step to the door with a heavy thump. He walked right up to Thor, eyes narrowed.

"He's _mine_," he said, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Thor's sweaty hand slipped on the doorknob twice before he managed to open the door and escape into the dark streets. He didn't return to Percy's apartment for three weeks, and even then never entered the master bedroom again.

Neither did he drape his coat along the back of the couch.

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**AN: Like my line breaks? I'm using those from now on (if I remember to put them in.) It's a bit short, but I think it's amusing enough.**

**There's not a lot of Nick this chapter, sorry. He has literally two words. But at least there's some oh-la-la time.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially those who guessed the drinks. Pretty much everyone got it right. It was: Apollo (Festivities of the Sun), Ares (A Dead Man tells no Tales), Hades (Under Dark Helms)**

**AND CAN I CHEERFULLY EXCLAIM MY JOY? 200+ REVIEWS! 290+ FAVS AND 340+ FOLLOWS! 4 COMMUNITIES! I never thought this would go that far, or be this well received. Thank you everyone! It's you guys that push me to write better and create this world.**

**I hope everyone enjoyed this. I had fun :D**

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ANOTHER QUIZ THING:

Yes, this is the second! Who can guess the god's for the drinks featured in this chapter?

_Nike's Valour_

_Sultan of the Skies_

_Talon_

The first is pretty obscure, if you want to guess and get it right you'll have to do your research! Well, tell me who the god is, and what they mean. The name is pretty evident... And the last two share a god. That should help you get the last one.

Tell me, how is the third related to the god the second and third share?

I will post a big list of drinks at the end of this fic (whenever that is).

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**NEXT UP: How Maria Hill Met Him &amp; Found Out**

**(I don't know how good this is gonna be. I'm not great with her character. Feel free to offer support...)**


	14. Chapter 14 -How Maria Hill MetFound Out

**AN - Well, this is done. I did not like this chapter :P Maria Hill isn't one of my favorite characters and I more did this just to have another chapter out here for experience. Definitely not my best work, and I kind of went 'whatever' towards the end but oh well. I had absolutely ZERO inspiration or motivation for this. **

**Good thing this isn't my usual quality.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing!**

**Contains SLASH, MALE RELATIONSHIPS, you should know that by now... I'm happy though - I've gotten no hate messages about slash! Yay!**

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God, sometimes Maria Hill hated the Helicarrier. It was a nightmare for security – while few people could get on easily, all it took was one ill-meaning person in an unfortunate location to blow the whole thing sky high, and then as a consequence into the vast ocean below. She tried not to let it bother her because it was her 'office' more often than not (Director Fury was fond of this toy in particular to they were _always_ using it) but the knowledge that one trespasser and a few cut wires could send her to flaming oblivion made her twitch.

So it was understandable that she was slightly paranoid about security while on the massive vehicle. She had a legitimate reason to panic – like now.

"You." She grabbed the agent on monitor duty by the shoulder and stared harshly at the screens in front of her. "Who is that?"

The man choked on his cheese-and-ham sandwich in surprise but dutifully swallowed his mouthful and brought up the view that the lady secretary was focusing on. "Um, an agent? Or a guest?" He said, eyes on the man portrayed on screen. He had black hair and bright green eyes, and seemed to be sitting in one of the break rooms. Despite the room's name, it was more of an empty space with a few hard chairs and a measly stack of magazines on a table nearby, one of which the man in question was flipping through. He had a highly disinterested look on his face, and the agent was hard-pressed not to copy it as he zoomed in on the tag clipped to the man's shirt collar. "See, ma'am?" He said, the very-legitimate looking guest tag filling the screen.

"Shut up," Maria told him, eyes narrowing. The guest tag was per protocol, but it was missing something – the ID code that ran along the bottom of all guest tags. It was so that they could search up the numbers and find the person's profile in SHIELD's database – or if it was a faked tag, the lack of a proper match of profiles. However this man had no such thing; there was just a series of lines to take up the space of the ID code.

And if that wasn't suspicious, then Maria Hill didn't know what was.

Knocking the upstart agent over the head, Maria Hill scowled at him and turned to leave the bridge. "You, watch the screens. I want you to keep an eye on him and anything else that's out of place – and look out for any damage reports. If a wire is burnt out or there's a dent by an engine, I want to know immediately." Leaving the man sweating, she hurried towards the break room where the man was. As she moved at a speed that was urgent but still dignified, she thought over anything that may give cause for a guest to be on the Helicarrier. There was a showing for some foreign dignitaries to convince them to give SHIELD an in to their governments, but that wasn't until tomorrow, and the last guest to come aboard had been that Bulgarian ex-black ops that Director Fury had conned into joining a week ago. There was no appointment or event today – so what was that man doing here?

She came to a stop at the break room and took a moment to peek through the window set into the door. The man was in the same spot as earlier, though he'd seemed to have changed from a _Sports Illustrated_ to a _People_, and looked scandalised at whatever he was reading. As soon as her eyes fell on him, his eyebrow twitched and his eyes darted up to the glass as if he knew she was there. Which shouldn't possible, because the glass was tinted on that side and all that was visible was a black pane. She narrowed her eyes at him, and waited until he had relaxed some before opening the door.

"Good afternoon," she said to the man, who put down his magazine with a smile. "Can I help you?"

"No, no," the man said as he looked her over. His name tag said P. Jackson, but it wasn't a name that she recognized from any of the agents' personal files, so he couldn't be any agent's SHIELD friend visiting from a different HQ. "I'm just waiting here for someone."

"Maybe I could help you find them, Mr. Jackson. Who is it that you're looking for?" Maria said, stepping farther into the room and closing the door behind her. She kept a discreet eye on her communicator and the hidden camera in the corner of the room, so that she was in constant connection with the bridge. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary besides the man in front of her, and that made her nervous. When all things are quiet, look for the snake your midst, as her mentor often said.

Jackson let out a little chuckle and he idly brushed off his pants. "It's not really important," he said as he got to his feet. One of his hands strayed to the pocket of his worn black jeans and sat there casually. Maria did not treat it like the absent-minded action it appeared to be – who knew if he had a detonator in there or something? "I won't be here long so it's really not a problem," he continued. His eyes seemed to have gained an ominous glint, but it may have just been a play of the light.

Maria hoped that was all it was.

Maria deliberately put a finger on her communicator and kept her eyes on Jackson as she replied, "I'm afraid that's not quite true, Mr. Jackson. I'm going to have to take you in to the control room so that we can find who you're looking for; the Helicarrier is a highly secretive military base so we have to be very careful with these things." She channeled the mindset she used for arrogant upstart politicians who thought they were the ruler of the world and actually knew nothing about fighting; it was a bit condescending, but it worked on the pompous men all the time.

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Jackson was not one of those men, but he did seem like an amiable person because he let out a little sigh and strolled towards her without complaint. She carefully stepped back to open the door to let him out before her (_never turn your back on an enemy_, whispered the voice of her mentor) and he crossed the threshold without problem. It was as she followed him into the corridor that the problems arose.

The entire hallway shuddered as a loud metallic groan, and Maria stumbled as the ground shook unexpectedly. Jackson wavered a bit, looking just as surprised as she was, but he recovered quickly. "What was that?" he asked her, eyes narrow.

She ignored him in favor of grabbing her communicator and contacting the bridge. "Maria Hill to bridge; what's our status?"

The same agent's shaky voice replied quickly. "We're stable but the port side rear engine was damaged; we believe it was sabotage. There's no record of unfamiliar wireless activations anywhere, so it must have been done manually, ma'am."

The port side – that was the other side of the ship. Obviously Jackson could not have been the person responsible for the malfunction if it was done manually, but that didn't mean he couldn't be an accomplice.

"Keep an eye on everything and try to contact the Director," she told the agent, then grabbed Jackson's arm. "You'll be coming with me."

"What?" he said, eyebrows raised. "You can't possibly think that I'm connected with any of this."

"It's a possibility, so the niceties are over. Shut up and move."

The man growled something under his breath but didn't try to fight her as they made their way to the bridge. Good. If he had tried something, she would have dropped him with the Taser stashed in her belt and called someone to lock him up until all the commotion was dealt with. They were nearly at the large blast doors that opened into the bridge when Maria's communicator beeped.

"Ma'am!" It was the agent, but his young voice sounded panicked. There was the sound of fighting in the background, and the connection wavered every few moments. "Don't approach the bridge! I repeat - - have been compromised! Don't… the bridge!" The message was broken by static several times, but Maria understood it enough to pull herself and her unwilling guest into a side hallway. It was at the last moment possible as well, because the blast doors were flung open like they were brittle wood instead of reinforced steel.

Maria held perfectly still, not certain if there was someone examining the hall for anymore agents. Next to her, the man held himself with the same tense awareness, and it was just as honed as hers. So she was correct – Jackson was a fighter, experienced in one way or another. After a tense moment, filled with the sounds of sparking circuits and low groans from the bridge, there was a grunt and the sound of heavy footsteps turning away. Taking the risk, Maria peeked around the corner of the hallway and saw the broad back of a dark-haired man toting a strange gun that glowed an unearthly blue. He wasn't alone; there were several other men and women in the bridge holding the same guns and as equally muscled. Most of the agents on bridge duty were lying on the ground, and the ones that weren't were sitting in the control chairs. Their bodies were uncommonly stiff, and they moved rigidly as they went about looking over the Helicarrier's notices and controls.

"It looks like mind control," said Jackson's voice from behind her. Maria jerked a bit in surprise, and turned to look at the man. He had a grim look on his face and his hand had returned to his pocket.

Turning away from the bridge, Maria made her way down the side hallway. "That's probably correct," she said as she went. Jackson caught up with her quickly. "It's best that I go find the Director, then the person manipulating those agents. You should find somewhere to wait out of the fight."

Jackson scoffed and shook his head. "No way in Tarta - hell. There's no telling how many able-bodied agents are left free of those guys' control, or how many enemies. You need every fighter you can get."

Maria gave him a flat look.

The black-haired man sighed, and said, "Look, I know I'm awfully suspicious, but seriously I have nothing to do with these guys. I was honestly waiting for someone! I even have the tag!" He waggled the piece of plastic. "Just take me to your Director Fury and I can prove it!"

All right, that was suspicious. The mysterious man claiming he was not a threat and to take him to her boss in the same breath? That sounded very much like an enemy to her.

So Maria did the intelligent thing. She pulled out her Taser, as quick as lightning, and dropped him.

She had to give it to Jackson (if that was even his real name), he had fast reflexes. He had jerked as soon as he'd seen her move and his eyes had widened when he saw the Taser in her hand, but he wasn't fast enough. His body hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Maria prodded him with her boot just to make sure he was unconscious. When he didn't react she tucked her Taser away and dragged his body towards a closet. Dumping him inside and arranging the man so that he was tucked underneath the service sink and mostly out of sight, she closed the door firmly. Now she just had to find Director Fury.

**\- - P &amp; S - - **

Nick, at that moment, was also hidden in a storage closet, though it was one with spare scrubs for the doctors. He was tucked away behind the awful white plastic suits, a stool artfully pulled in front of his feet so as to hide them. He was holding his breathe, his eye staring at the suit in front of his face as he heard the slow squeal of the door being pulled open. As the light from the hallway spilled into the closet, he could see the silhouette of a stocky man in the doorway, shining through the thin plastic.

_God damn it_, he thought, _if my day gets anymore fucked up I'm going to take a two week vacation, screw the Council and any global crisis that may show up._

He did have every right to be as frustrated as he was. At the beginning of the day he had thought that it wouldn't be that bad – Percy had said that he'd try to stop by the Helicarrier to see him at work, and then head home with him later. Since they were currently hovering over the Atlantic, Percy wouldn't have any problem coming or going, so he'd agreed to meet his partner in the break room several halls away from the infirmary.

He had been on his way when some misinformed recruit had slowed him down to ask a few questions about a file for some diplomat who would be visiting soon. Unwilling to leave the problem unfixed and understanding that it wasn't the recruit's fault for not knowing what the Director looked like while in one of his moods, he had barked out instructions and left the young woman shaking in her boots. And that, of course, was when the malfunction occurred.

Immediately Percy was (reluctantly) put from his mind, and he turned away to make his way towards the bridge. (He only went because he knew that Percy was safe from the explosion, seeing that it was on the other side of the Helicarrier.) Of course, he turned a corner and nearly exposed himself to a pair of muscled thugs in cargo pants and grey shirts with cliché buzz cuts and scars. Seeing the very defined muscles in their backs (which were thankfully facing him) and the ominous looking guns that definitely outmatched his own pistol, he quickly backtracked and ducked into the closet.

Which led him to his current situation.

After a moment, the man said, "Clear," and turned away, letting the door swing shut behind him. Through the thin metal Nick could hear him and his partner walking away. He waited a minute before extracting himself from the scrubs. Creeping into the empty hallway, he began to make his way back towards the bridge. He had to take the long way around, because the two thugs had gone the faster route. As he hurried along, keeping his footsteps silent and checking every corner before he turned them, he tried to think over the events that had passed.

Since those men were walking around so effortlessly and without worry he would assume that the bridge was taken by the enemy. It would be best if he managed to sneak in and see who it was that had taken control of his ship and to see what had happened to the crew manning it. He was creeping around a corner, on his way to the blast doors of the bridge, when he encountered someone on his way. Thankfully, he recognized familiar dark hair pulled into a tight bun and the severe face to be Maria's, and he got the attention of his subordinate quickly.

"Director!" Maria looked faintly relieved at managing to find someone, and they settled themselves in a corner, safe from any cameras.

"Agent Hill. Have you seen any of the attackers?"

"Yes sir; I managed to make it up to the bridge and saw them without being noticed. There appear to be a large number of enemies at the bridge, all trained and with guns that seem to induce mind control. I did not see the leader. Just before the bridge was taken over, I managed to obtain some information about the malfunction. It appears to be manual sabotage."

"Well, shit." Nick scowled and rubbed at the furrows between his eyebrows. He felt the beginnings of a massive headache started up behind his eyes, and dismissed it as best as he could. "Let's make our way to the engine that was targeted; there should be people there guarding the device used to short circuit the engine, so we'll need to take them out so that that risk can be removed."

Maria hurried along behind her boss, slightly relieved that they had something of a battle plan. While she wasn't Fury's biggest fan, she could respect him enough to recognize his tactical genius and his dedication to his cause. She was more inclined to serve the United States itself, regardless of what may happen to other distant nations, but Fury had a far broader view of things. In cases such as these, he was the man to put in charge.

As they wound their way through the hallways, Nick muttered angrily under his breath. Why did these things always have to happen to him? He would have loved to just be with Percy, with no interruptions or complications, just for a day – or maybe a week if he got hopeful! He wanted only to stay in Percy's comfy apartment (it was more of a home for him than the one officially under his name – that one was more for appearances than anything) and shut themselves away. Blue food, fine liquor, a few movies and some books, maybe a couple walks in the nearby park and some refreshing bedroom exercise – it was all he could hope for on a 'vacation.'

But SHIELD Directors don't get _vacations_, because god forbids that the politicians might keep their egos in their pants and the world might not be in danger for once.

Biting back more bitter swears, Nick turned his attention to Agent Hill. "Did you see anyone suspicious while making your way over here? Someone that might be involved?"

The woman hesitated for a moment. "Well, there was an unknown man in one of the break rooms. He had a guest tag that seemed legitimate, except for a small flaw in the ID coding. He seemed rather unassuming, but we only noticed him shortly before the explosion and all the commotion. He could have been helping the attackers in some way."

Nick felt his jaw lock up and the burgeoning headache at his temples turn into a throbbing migraine. _Why in the seven hells was it always him…_ "Did he perchance have dark hair and tan skin?"

Startled by her superior's tense ton, Maria replied, "Yes, and green eyes and a musculature stature. His tag said P. Jackson, if that was his true name."

"And _where_ exactly is Mr. Jackson?"

"In a storage closet."

"_Motherfucker!"_

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

Percy managed to wrestle his way out of the storage closet after only a few minutes of twisting to reach the doorknob. He had doused his hands in water from the convenient sink to heal up the small burns he'd gotten from that _woman_'s Taser, so he felt fine once more. Now he just had to find Nick, where ever he was on the blast flying fortress, and smash the face of whomever it was that was causing this ruckus.

Or do the second bit first, then the first. Whichever was more convenient.

Hmm, should he make his way back to the bridge? It was one of the few places that he could actually get to (because there was no way he would spend enough time in an airborne deathtrap to memorize the whole layout) and the centre of most of his problems. Not to mention that Nick would try to find a lone enemy agent and kidnap him to interrogate or something, because all the subterfuge was more his style than just barging in with all guns blazing.

Nick always did like his plans and surprises. It was nice sometimes, like that one time when he returned from the bar and found him waiting with all the lights turned off and those awesome…

No! Bad Percy! Don't think those thoughts during a risky mission! Maybe after…

Taking over the bridge would distract him properly. He began to make his way towards it, musing over what he could do to seize control. Weren't there several containers of water there for the agents when they got thirsty? Those could be helpful…

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

In the end it was all resolved rather quickly, which was something Maria was happy about. After learning about Jackson's whereabouts, Nick had icily told her to take care of the damaged engine and stormed off in the direction of the bridge. While confused, she had done as ordered and with disgusting ease finished off the men standing guard (little training, all muscle and no brain, the guns were useless if they couldn't hit anything) to examine what they were surrounding. It was the maintenance hatch, obviously, and it had an interesting looking gadget lodged into the wires. It had blinking numbers and words on it, and appeared to be the source of the malfunction. She carefully extracted it, stumbled as the engine rumbled a bit but was relieved when it evened itself back out.

With her mission taken care of, she had hurried back to the bridge. Who knew what the Director was doing there? Hopefully he wouldn't damage anything… And what did Jackson have to do with all of this? He couldn't be an accomplice because Director Fury knew him – or if he was an accomplice he had to be a very important one for the same reason. How could he be an important accomplice though? He had been… startling _pathetic_, really. She'd taken him down without a sweat – hell, he hadn't even been on guard. It was kind of insulting that he hadn't expected anything from her even though they were enemies…

Sneaking up to the blast doors of the bridge, which were haphazardly thrown open, she peeked inside. The attackers were unconscious on the ground, as well as a woman in a ridiculous hat that glowed the same blue as the guns. She had obviously been controlling the agents, who were now unconscious once released from her manipulations. She could see the back of Fury's signature coat, as he leaned against the base of the one of the computer stations. He seemed to be relatively unharmed, and there was no tension in the lines of his body. What worried her more was the presence of one mysterious P. Jackson, who stood in front of the Director. He had a wicked little look on his face and was saying something to Fury in a low voice.

Even from this distance, Maria could see his eyes sparking with something _feral_, and swallowed as her mouth suddenly went dry. What was he planning? Maybe he really was an enemy, looking at Fury like that… Her hand reached for the gun tucked into her belt slowly. Whatever it was he had in mind, there was no way she would just let him walk over her and the Director.

Jackson began to lean forward, hand reaching for Fury's collar and a devious look on his face, and Maria reacted instinctively. Stepping out from the cover of the entrance, she hurried forward with her gun aimed at Jackson's head. "Don't move Jackson! Step away from the Director or I will shoot!" _If that's even your real name_, she thought wryly.

The man paused for a moment, head twisting to look at her with a disgruntled expression. Then his brow furrowed and he said something that sounded like, "Fuck it all," and lunged forward. Maria's hand tightened on the trigger and she glared down the barrel –

Only to freeze immediately. What was it she was seeing? She had to make sure.

P. Jackson, suspicious man; Director Fury, unsociable man; one dressed in jeans and a hoodie and the other in designer, body-armor leather – and kissing.

Kissing quite energetically too.

Mechanically Maria lowered the gun. She couldn't quite understand what it was that she was seeing, but Fury was not yelling. Or in distress. Or pain. In fact, he looked rather pleased, and that meant her presence was not needed.

She quickly turned away and made for the exit, vainly trying to think of something to distract her from the monumental… discovery. Maybe Coulson would like to go for drinks tomorrow?

Maybe Coulson would know what the hell was going on, and who the hell this P. Jackson was. Maybe he'd help her invent brain bleach as well.

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DRINKS:

For the last chapter: lot's of people got it right, and those who didn't were pretty close or some cool ideas!

_Nike's Valour_ \- for the goddess of victory, Nike; a fine scotch that makes you feel proud of all you have accomplished

_Sultan of the Skies_ \- for the god of the skies and king of the gods, Zeus; a strong gin that has a finish resembling thunderstorms (note: sultan can mean ruler)

_Talons - _also for Zeus, representing the talons of his signature animal, the eagle; a nice brandy to compliment the other Big Three Creature Drinks (those are coming soon)

I have lots of exotic alcohols in mind for many more gods. Big thanks to Finwitch1, who has helped me a ton with this entire series with their support and ideas! Thanks everyone for your responses!

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**AN - So yeah, mentioned up top - not my favorite work, and not my best quality. I'm sorry for it to be like this, but I had no motivation and I wanted to give you something before I leave (which is mentioned later.)**

**Current story stats as of now: 14 chapters, 231 reviews, 309 favs, 366 follows!**

**NOTICE - I will be on vacation for two weeks starting Friday, so expect no updates for at least two weeks and probably several days after. I will not have access to internet and I probably won't be working on my stories very often. It's vacation so I might not write much while I'm out running around and seeing cool stuff. I'll most likely start after I get back, so more likely three weeks of no update. **

**Which is sad, because I'm excited for what's next. That's right folks:**

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**NEXT UP: How Loki Met Him**

(Yay! Important god stuff!)


	15. Chapter 15 - How Loki Met Him (Kinda)

**AN - I'm back! It's been longer than three weeks, I know, but I didn't get any work done during vacation (cause everything is so distracting on vacation) and inspiration was reluctant to come for a bit. But hey, it's done now! As always, there's been lots of support and I'm grateful. **

**We're at 250+ reviews, almost 350 favs and 400+ follows! I never thought it'd get this far, haha, but here we are! I'm in awe.**

**Anyway, classes start on the 10th for me, and I've got a stupid heavy work load first semester. I'll do my best to keep on writing, but I might take a bit to adjust and fall into a routine so that I'm not swamped with work :P My morning is hell, too much math and sciences piled into four hours... But I will strive to bring the partner chapter for Loki!**

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IF YOU DON'T READ THE BOTTOM AN'S, READ THE UNDER LINED/ITALICS BIT JUST THIS ONCE. IT WILL AFFECT BONUS CHAPTERS. IT LOOKS LIKE _**THIS.**_

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**Disclaimer : As always, I don't own anything recognizable, as in characters from their individual creators do not belong to me, and all familiar concepts also aren't mine! Everything else is mine, though. No stealing.**

**WARNINGS of SLASH &amp; SWEARING! Obviously.**

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**How Loki Met Him (But Did He Really Meet Loki?)**

As both a god and a prince, Loki knew opulence. He lived in luxury every day: his bed sheets were made of the finest silk, the walls of his room set with gold and obsidian, and every day he ate food worth of (of course) a god. He was old friends with extravagance, long time companions with arrogance; a long time visitor to the world that was privilege.

And even then the man (god, really, but only in the faintest sense of the word) made his eyebrows rise.

He was a lithe man, dressed in a white sheet of clothe that was thrown over one shoulder and looked remarkably like a dress. A toga, he believed it was called. He had curly black hair, cropped close to his skull, and tanned skin that matched the bronze pin at his shoulder. He sat astride a winged white horse (a Pegasus was it?) with an elegant beige saddle with silver stitching. He wore leather sandals with little wings at the heel.

He was an Olympian messenger from Midgard, if both his appearance and the scroll that he had handed to Odin a moment ago were true. He had a distasteful look on his face as he eyed the feast that was going on around him. The Asgardians, being the rough and live-in-the-moment sort they were, were using their fingers and the occasional utensil and staring shamelessly at the stranger. He was regarding them with a fair amount of disgust and holier-than-thou attitude.

Hmm. Maybe it was living on a plane of existence alongside mortals that made the Olympians so arrogant towards other deities?

"So the godly summit has been set," Odin said, rolling the scroll up once more. "This occasion is being held at Olympus, is it not?"

"Yes," the messenger looked like he wanted to sniff condescendingly, but seemed to remember that the men before him were the royal family at the last moment. "According to the ancient agreements, this is the three month notice. The Bifrost shall be allowed passage onto the slopes of Olympus for exactly five minutes, three months from now. Once the gathering has been adjourned it shall be opened once more. You are allowed two other representatives aside from Lord Odin." The messenger listed the terms of the godly summit in a monotone; obviously they had been drilled into him extensively. The terms were no different than the last time he'd heard then. The godly summit – one hundred and seventy-five years ago – had been hosted by Asgard, and the Olympian Lord Zeus had brought his brother Poseidon of the Sea and the messenger god, Hermes. Loki had been more fond of the latter, though Poseidon had been amiable in comparison to Zeus. It had been a long while since Loki had gone to a godly summit hosted by Olympus – he'd been barely out of childhood then. Odin always took his wife Frigga and another of importance, usually the political advisor or the military commander. Thor had gone two summits ago and had come back with preposterous tales of Olympian half-gods and foreign liquor. Loki could only assume that this time Odin would take someone who's political prowess might smooth the ruffled feathers Thor had undoubtedly left behind. Again.

Odin set the scroll down beside his plat of wild boar and sipped his goblet speculatively. "I believe that this year I shall be taking my wife once more to accompany myself. As for the other…" His eyes turned to Loki; who felt a flash of surprise run through him. "I will be taking my son Loki."

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

After that shocking declaration, the three months passed rather quickly. Loki was equipped with fine robes and given an overview of what to expect at the gatherings. He'd been given warnings by Frigga not to be overwhelmed by the Olympians (they had left him alone the last time he'd visited because of his youth) who were apparently far more rowdy and passionate than Asgardian in general.

"Think of a mountain full of Thors," Frigga had told him, "only with much different personalities and more cunning, for the Olympians oft meddle with the lives of mortals for sport."

The description had made Loki shudder, but he found himself excited nonetheless. Before he even realized it, he was following his father and mother onto the Bifrost and bidding Heimdall and Thor farewell.

The journey through the Bifrost was the roughest he'd ever experienced. Usually it bypassed such distances like that between Asgard and Midgard in little more than a handful of seconds. This trip, however, took several minutes, and towards the latter end of it he felt like he was being shoved through several small holes like those of a cheese grater. As he felt the rush of solid ground start to approach, he reasoned that the strange sensation must have been the protections around Mount Olympus; maneuvering the Bifrost through the small window given to them in the shields was no easy feat.

They landed with the customary blast of noise and wind on smooth white marble. It was a circular piece, obviously customized for the Bifrost itself because the Nordic etchings neatly touched the edges. Around it were well-trimmed hedges and a small fountain. They appeared to be on hillside, with the ground sloping down around them; farther down they could see the tops of houses that were the same white as the roads.

Heading upwards was a staircase framed by more hedges, and at the base stood a man, waiting. He was dressed on a distinctly Greek fashion, with a silver chest plate and shin guards strapped over silk clothes. He had the aura of a warrior, which was reinforced by the scars he could see on his tanned skin. He regarded them with a neutral expression, arms crossed and waiting for the entourage of three to collect themselves.

"Greetings," Odin said a moment later, stepping forward. He nodded to the man, who bowed slightly in return. "I trust that our arrival is as expected?"

"Of course," the man said. "I'm here to take you to the gods. They're waiting in the throne room." Without another word the man turned and began walking up the stairs. They followed him quickly, and as they ascended, Loki gazed at the man curiously. He did not seem to be comfortable with all the formalities involving greeting foreign dignitaries, so why had the Olympians sent him? Was he a minor god who had simply gotten unlucky? Or a mortal turned deity? Curious...

The staircase stretched on for a while, but they reached the top in a few minutes and came to a stop in front of a large white stone building. It had changed from the last time Loki had seen it – though he'd been young, the differences were so vast that even he could tell. They passed through the tall entrance way and the large braziers that lined the length of the hall. After several more archways, they came to a large oval room with the sounds of voices drifting from within. The man marched through without hesitation and led them into the centre.

Loki subtly glanced around, staying close to his father and mother as they came to a halt. All around them were tall thrones, far larger than him. It seemed the rumour about Olympians having an a form as tall as a frost giant was true, though the gods themselves were seated on smaller versions of their thrones around a long bronze table, the size of a regular man.

"Welcome," said the god at the head of the table, his voice echoing as the gods got to their feet. "It's good to see that you are in fine health, Lord Odin." _Because if you weren't it'd mean that your responsibilities might become my problem as well_¸ went unsaid.

"You as well, Zeus, and all the Olympic brethren."

And so the boring talks began. Loki kept an ear open, but he wasn't involved as the matters discussed didn't relate to him personally. Yes, the interdimensional barrier was holding up well, keeping both groups of deities and their domains apart from one another; no, the mortals on Midgard were not anymore aware regarding their presence as they had last meeting; the trade in Asgard was faring well, and the interdimensional merchants were spoiling the public with their strange Greek merchandise.

"Your city has changed much since we last saw it," Odin said several hours into the talks. By then everyone had relaxed slightly and food and drinks had been brought out. Loki himself was enjoying a glass of amber rum, slumped comfortably in his chair and watching the discussions curiously.

Zeus coughed slightly. "Yes, we had to do some remodeling after an unfortunate incident."

"An incident?" Odin sat forward in his seat. "There was an attack upon Mount Olympus?"

"Yes." It was Hades that replied. Zeus looked murderous at his brother's response, but the death god merely ignored him and continued speaking. "The titans rose up once more, and our dear father Kronos clawed his way out of Tartarus, but we crushed them soon after their emergence. It was during our absence to battle Typhoon and stop him from destroying the mortal plane that the enemy forces came to the city."

"How were they fought off?" Frigga asked. "We know of your titans, and they were much too strong for any minor deity to fight, and the Olympians were away. Who among you left to fight?"

The gods shifted a bit, looking slightly miffed, but a smile appeared on Poseidon's face. "It was my son," he said. "He lead an army and defended the mortal entrance to Olympus, and ascended to our thrones to defend them."

"Your son? Triton?"

"No, no, my demigod son, Perseus Jackson." Poseidon waved an arm to where the man who had escorted them to Olympus stood on the other side of the hall, conversing quietly with another man with dark features and dark apparel. Obviously the two had not been paying attention because when they felt the gods' eyes on them, the green-eyed man choked slightly on the food he'd been eating, and hurriedly swallowed it down.

"May I help you, Father, Uncles?" He asked, not uncomfortable with addressing the ridiculously powerful figures with such familiar titles. He seemed more offset by the gazes of the foreign rulers, but paid them no mind. It would have been rude (it still was, a bit) but the man was half-mortal and therefore pitiful and uneducated in the ways of politics.

"We were just speaking of your exploits regarding the Titan War and the saving of Olympus. I'm sure our guests would enjoy hearing of some of your adventures. Nico, come as well." Hades said to the two men, a friendlier expression on his face towards them than to the Asgardians. The two demigods approached rather reluctantly, but settled themselves on the cushioned couches that appeared between Poseidon and Hades' thrones.

"Perseus Jackson and Nico?" Frigga asked, her eyes glowing with curiosity. She had heard the names mentioned by the interdimensional merchants that often spoke among themselves and to the rare curious Asgardian about the exploits of the heroes of Greek Midgard. "I have heard much about you. Your adventures seem to be on par with those of my sons."

Loki could now identify the symbols on the belts of the two demigods – Poseidon's son bore a green trident, the leather around it accented with blue, and Nico's black leather was stamped with a grey helm that looked remarkably like a skull; it was Hades' mark. So this Nico was the son of the lord of the underworld – he, too, would be far more powerful than a mortal, like Perseus, but whether their power matched up to that of a full-blooded demigod like himself and Thor was another matter.

"Yes, they became the saviors of Olympus before they even reached adulthood." Poseidon said, looking far more like a proud father than Odin ever had been before. Hades, despite being stiff-faced, also had the faintest sense of the same expression. The half-mortals seemed slightly embarrassed at the praise but bore it in silence.

Of course that was when Zeus and Odin began to regale each other with tales of their children's exploits; Odin spoke of Thor and his Warriors Three, and Zeus spoke of his most prestigious children, and occasionally those of his brothers and sisters. As the room began to get more and more uncomfortable as Odin's and Zeus' egos fought for dominance, Loki grimaced and settled in to wait for everyone to grow tired of the posturing and demand a break in the meeting. It was like this every time, even in Asgard. As much as the Asgardians liked to think themselves above the Olympians and their socialization with mortals, and the Olympians believed themselves to be better the Asgardians because of the many times they'd crushed enemies and won battles with excruciating odds, they were both the same when it came to their lords. Pride was their downfall, for both Zeus and Odin.

Luckily not even ten minutes into the vocal competition (a few of the Olympians had already disappeared from the room, among them Ares of War, Artemis of the Hunt and Hermes) the tolling of a great bell interrupted the 'important' discussion. The Asgardians paused for a moment, and the Olympians had a look of minor confusion on their face for less than a second, but it was cleared immediately when Perseus and Nico rose to their feet. They seemed grateful to have an excuse to escape from their seats and hurried towards the entrance doors without looking to the gods. Before they could even cross half the room the doors creaked open and revealed a middle-aged woman in gleaming bronze armor. She had long hair pulled into a plate that fell over one shoulder, and carried a tall spear in one hand. She showed was would have been a scandalous amount of skin in Asgardian, with her leather and metal studded armor shirt falling over her bare legs and ending several inches over her knees. There was a long cloth that fell down from her belt, white with gold lining that fell farther than the skirt, but the armor still would have been looked down upon in Asgard. Her breast plate was fitted and chiseled with muscle much like Thor's was, though her arm were bare save shoulder guards and greaves on her wrists. Her boots were tall and made of the same shining metal as her breast plate. The helm she wore was characteristically Greek, with the white and gold hair along the top and the long nose piece.

It had to be one of the Horae, Loki realised, the goddesses charged with guarding the godly gates to Olympus. She looked far different than he'd expected, but then again it made sense for the guardians of the gates that the gods used to go to and from the mortal plane to be strong and armored.

"Thallate!" Perseus said, motioning for her to enter the throne room. "Why has the attack bell gone off?"

"Lord Perseus," the woman greeted. "It appears a contingent of hellhounds and lamia appeared at the foot of Olympus. They are far below the towns, but we decided it best to eradicate them before they pose a problem. I apologize for interrupting the summit," she said with a bow to Zeus.

"You have no reason to apologize," Perseus said before any of the gods could answer. "I was aware that the monsters may consider Olympus weaker during the summit, for the gods' attention to all be focused inwards on political matters. Nico and I can take care of them. Right Nico?"

Perseus turned to the other half-mortal, whose answer was to summon a helm of bone with a wave of his hand and small flash of black smoke. Loki felt a shiver run up his spine at the blatant display of death magic; such things were rare in Asgard, for sorcery was looked down upon and he himself was one of the few practicing sorcerers in his home realm. Perseus laughed at the response and adjusted the bindings of his armor, looking far more at ease talking of battle than he did speaking of his adventures. A minor god rushed forward to hand the green-eyed man a silver helm with a sea green mane, which he took with murmured thanks and put it on. Nico did the same, his mane black with metallic silver. Perseus turned to the gods and told his father, "We'll take care of this," and left with Nico.

Poseidon was quick to rise from his throne, Hades following not a moment later. "I believe I shall deign to watch my son battle. It's always refreshing to see the mortal way of things being done." Hades made a noise of agreement and followed his brother out onto the balcony at the end of the throne room.

"The mortal way?" Odin asked, getting up when he saw that the rest of the Olympians were doing so as well.

"Yes. Us gods, we finish things quickly with the powers at hand; such problems are nothing more than a speck of dirt to be crushed beneath our hands. To the mortals though – they put all their will into their actions. They live such short lives, and that means that these obstacles," there was a gesture to the dark crowd that could just barely be seen below at the foot of the visible mountain, "are taken down much more ferociously." It was Apollo who spoke as Poseidon made his way to a fountain that was at the end of the balcony.

The sea god summoned a gold coin from thin air and tossed it into the spray of the water. The coin disappeared and Poseidon said, "O Iris, hear my voice and grant us view of Perseus Jackson and Nico Di Angelo." For a moment nothing happened; then the air around the fountain shimmered and gleamed with an iridescent rainbow. The haze spread around the gods and after a few seconds turned from mist to the white stone floors and walls of the courtyard outside of the throne room. Perseus and Nico emerged from the doors and into the group of minor gods that were hurrying around the Olympian castle.

"Someone find Blackjack and Mrs. O'Leary!" Perseus said in a commander's voice, and two minor gods dressed in the fine blue gowns of the house hold staff disappeared from view. Nico was giving orders to others in a similar tone, though it seemed to pertain to securing the edge of the town below. Neither seemed particularly worried but took the proper precautions to make sure the situation didn't get out of hand anyway. Loki reluctantly approved – while he himself was not much of a physical warrior, he understood battle and had fought many times before. No matter how confident oneself was in their abilities, it was best to be sure that those uninvolved would not suffer the backlash if they failed.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and clattering hooves, and the two minor gods that had been sent off came back into sight, this time each leading a large creature. The first was a huge dog, the size of which rivaled Fenrir, all black with red eyes and an amber collar, and it greeted Perseus with a rub of its head, then made its way to Nico. The man with dark eyes and hair and pale skin climbed atop her back without difficulty.

Next was a Pegasus, just as dark a black as the hellhound but with silver at its hooves and along its nose and interspersed in its mane. It had large black wings that fluttered slightly as it pranced excitedly. It was a very fine horse, the perfect example of healthy steed – it was well-muscled, well fed and obviously of good temperament if the way it nuzzled Perseus and ignored all the noise and movement around it meant anything. It had silver tack (1), sleek and polished, with green accents that were the same color as Perseus' eyes and Poseidon's trident. The saddle was much the same, except of treated, light beige leather, and had the occasional green bead and feather hanging from it. The reins were plated with silver, obviously to stop them from being cut, though the bridle was bit-less, which was strange because in battle horses needed to be directed all the more.

Odin had obviously noticed it as well and voiced his thoughts. "Perseus' steed does not have a bit (2), or any armor. Why is that?"

Poseidon made an indignant noise as they watched Perseus check over the Pegasus' saddle and his own armor, seeming to murmur words to the horse as he did so. "As one of the creator of horses, I have a great connection with my equine offspring that all my children share. My son needs no bit for his steed, whether in battle or in leisure, for he and all horses can understand one another as clearly as we do with each other. As for armor, my son's Pegasus is a light breed, therefore not made to wear armor and fly easily. In a more important or dangerous battle, Blackjack might be equipped with leather coverings, but in a skirmish as little as this my son barely even needs a saddle. It's there only to help him balance himself."

Odin looked reluctantly impressed by the claim, and Frigga seemed fascinated with the thought of communicating with creatures so easily.

Below them, Perseus swung up onto his Pegasus and the horse skittered excitedly, obviously ready to go. The demigod handled the reins gently to calm it down, turned to speak to Nico for a moment, and when he received the other man's nod urged his steed forward. The black horse quickly broke into a run and made for one of the long strips of green grass on either side of the entrance stairs. When they had first entered Olympus, Loki had wondered over them, because they were nothing more than a long lawn with no decorations that remained level with the castle ground floor while the stairs dropped down between them. Now, however, he could see that they were designed to be run ways for the Pegasus; wide enough for three horses or so to run comfortably side by side, they were straight and ended suddenly at a sharp drop off. Perseus rode his horse off the edge without hesitation, and the moment the Pegasus' hooves left the ground its wings snapped open and the two sailed up.

Below, Nico followed Perseus onto the lawn, but did not make his way to the edge. Instead he and his hellhound ran towards a strange overhang that seemed purposely designed to be dark and cast shadows. Loki watched them phase into the shadows and nodded, recognizing shadow travel when he saw and commending Olympus' recent architect. Everything needed for a rapid evacuation or deployment of heroes or troops was set up, inconspicuous enough that it looked like part of the landscape around it. It made him think of home.

The haze around them froze for a moment, then blurred as the scenery shifted rapidly. They found themselves looking down upon a rocky slope with sparse vegetation, dotted with the shifting forms of the Greek monsters. Loki himself was not all that familiar with them, because the Olympians did an excellent job in keeping their kind away Asgard and its realms, but he knew the hellhounds and guessed that the half-snake, half-woman creatures were lamia. They were strange – he wasn't used to seeing such a mix of biology – but there weren't too many of them. Their progress up the mountainside was slow, as they seemed to fight amongst themselves as much as they might against an enemy, but before they could move any closer to the town that was just barely visible, Perseus' form could be seen swooping down from above. He passed low over their heads, and his Pegasus' hooves struck out, covered in spiked guards made of the same Greek metal – Celestial bronze, he believed it was called. The creatures that he managed to surprise let out low shrieks before they burst into gold dust, and Perseus turned around to come back for another run. The monsters turned to face him, the lamias hefting their weapons and the hellhounds getting ready to jump, but when Perseus drew near he didn't drop as low. Instead he only swooped over – successfully distracting the monsters long enough for the ground behind them to crack open and a dark mist seep forth. A skeletal hand appeared over the edge, and Loki felt his mother and father stiffen next to him as they watched an undead form pull itself from the ground. It was all bones, with armor loosely held in place by magic. Several more followed it, and they all had bronze shoulder guards, helms and shields, and the short swords that were favored by the Greeks in their time. Loki was fascinated – death magic was rare in most parts of the universe, and yet here it was being manipulated so flawlessly like it was an everyday occurrence. None of the gods seemed particularly bothered by the appearance of the undead warriors, and Perseus was obviously comfortable if he had worked with them often enough to automatically work to distract them like he had.

He had thought that these demigods were less worthy because of their mortal blood. Oh, how he was wrong. Obviously their godly heritage was so much stronger than he had assumed, for they were tearing up the invading force with an ease that rivaled Thor's band of merrymakers. And the powers the son of the underworld wielded! It was so amusing to see his parents so uneasy in presence of something the Olympians didn't pay any mind to.

The group of attacking monsters was already well on its way to being annihilated, both with Nico's skeletal warriors and the combined efforts of the two mounted heroes, when Perseus seemed to grow tired of the battle and climbed down from his steed. He turned back to the town, which was as far away as ever, and gestured as if he was pulling something of great weight. The monsters tried to claw at his back, but Nico was there as he had been every other time to fill Perseus' weak points. For a moment nothing changed, and then the ground rumbled as a great roar emitted from the direction of town. Loki thought it was a monster that had somehow gotten by, but was quickly reassured otherwise when a huge wave of churning water came over the crest of the hill. The lie smith had to assume that the water came from the fountains and ponds in the gardens around the mountainside.

The tidal wave swept down the hill towards the battle, and smashed into the diminished enemy ranks with all the force of a raging warg (3). It looked the monsters from their feet, and while the only weapons to harm the Greek monsters were ones made from Celestial bronze, it seemed the crushing pressure of water did that job just as well. There was a large explosion of gold dust in the churning waves as monsters were crushed and flattened beneath the rage of Perseus. Over half of the remaining enemies were killed in an instant, and the ones that weren't were bound by tight ropes of water that kept them in place. Nico and his skeletal warriors were quick to finish the restrained monsters and the battle that had seemed like a mere scuffle for entertain was over in seconds once the heroes had decided to stop playing around.

The fight over, the haze around them shivered and disappeared, leaving the gods standing on the balcony. Both Poseidon and Hades seemed inordinately pleased in their sons' display (_jealous_, whispered a part of Loki's mind) and even Zeus, despite his stuck-up attitude, looked satisfied with the might of his demigod warriors.

"That was most impressive," Odin said after a moment. Frigga echoed his words, though much more eloquently, and Loki listened absentmindedly as the gods began another discussion on the merits of a joint training program between their two armies. He watched as Nico and Perseus returned to the lawn run by the courtyard. They wiped their armor of the gold dust and let the minor gods take their mounts away, leaving them to converse with each other for a few minutes. Nico departed short after, and Perseus wandered in a different direction. Curious despite himself, Loki discreetly excused himself and followed the humming of Perseus' power signature through the white hall of Olympus.

He spotted the man seated in a far more secluded courtyard, which was walled in on all sides by chest high hedges. The centre was adorned with yet another fountain, although with small busts on pedestals around it. It seemed to be dedicated to Poseidon's kin, which explained why the fountain was far more extravagant than usual and the top was adorned with a green sea-glass orb. Perseus was seated on a bench, manipulating a small stream of water to sweep across the surface of his breastplate, which he held in his hands. The water carefully wiped away the grime and dust driven into the niches of the armor, and Perseus seemed completely focused on his task.

He really shouldn't have, but Loki cautiously extended a small probe of his magic, brushing it along the half-mortal's aura. The spiritual representation of the man's power shivered at the contact, and Perseus paused in his cleaning, frowning. Loki did it again (so few warriors in Asgard could even feel the touch of another's aura on their own), a little stronger, and marveled at the density of Perseus' aura. Normal warriors' auras could be compared to tissue paper, thin and wispy and hanging around them like a spider web blew in the wind. Civilians had practically no aura whatsoever, only a pathetic little mist between their collarbones, though for mortal civilians it was more like a drop of water somewhere in their diaphragm. Perseus' aura, however, was thick like a heavy downpour of rain, complete with the rushing sound of water and the cool sensation on his skin. It was almost like his whole aura had doubled back on itself.

Maybe it _had_, because when Loki pushed a little deeper Perseus' head snapped up and his eyes turned to where Loki stood. The prince had seen the action coming and hurriedly illusioned himself into nothingness, but he shivered when the demigod's eyes passed over him. The man's aura flared oppressively, springing forward from its small proximity to take over the majority of the courtyard. Even though auras were invisible to the naked eye, Loki could feel the pressure on the back of his neck, and he could see the streams of water in the fountain jumping abnormally.

Loki pulled back his probe and swept down the hallway, quickly leaving Perseus' presence. He rubbed his chin as he walked back to the throne hall. This was interesting, most interesting. How could an aura be so dense as to fold back on itself? Was it because he was the combination of light-aura deity and heavy-aura mortal? Was it his constant involvement with the mythical, both in location and persons?

Perseus' Jackson would bear watching, even if the man himself did not know it. He had caught the caution of Loki Odinson, and should the god ever return to Midgard's mortal plane he would watch his footsteps for the heavy presence of the son of the sea.

**\- - P &amp; S - -**

Two and half days later, all the foreign deities were removed from Olympus and Percy was taking a breather in the blessedly empty courtyards. Even though the Asgardians had only brought three of their own (and what was it with three and gods? Three foreign diplomats, the Big Three?) they'd had a heavy presence. Now it was like Percy was getting his first breath of fresh air in three days.

"Man, they're finally gone," Nico said from beside him.

"Yeah. I never thought three days could feel so long." Percy leaned back in the lawn chair he had _finally_ convinced the snobby palace staff to create and took a long pull from his beer.

"The Asgardians were kind of creepy. They kept on looking down on us for having 'mortal-tainted blood' even after the fight." Nico took a sip from his beer as well, content in his spot next to Percy despite his complaints.

"Mm."

"And that black haired man, Loki, the Trickster. He kept on looking at you funny."

"…He did?"

"Jeez, you're so clueless. Yeah, he was always glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes, and he'd wiggle his fingers like he was poking at something. And he followed you for a bit, like he always knew where you were."

"…Now that you mention it, I was feeling eyes on the back of my neck a lot, and I kept wanting to sneeze, like something was brushing against my nose."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah.

"…Weird. Anyway, did you bring any more of your beer? I finished mine."

"Greedy, greedy…"

* * *

NOTES

(1) – Tack, the equipment used for horseback riding, like the reins and halter (the leather bits that go around the head essentially)

(2) – Bit, the metal part of horse tack that is fitted into the back of the horse's mouth where there is no teeth, for steering and control

(3) – Warg, a wolf-monster from Norse mythology

* * *

**AN - So yeah, Loki and Percy kind of meet, and Loki recognizes Percy as the dangerous bad ass he is. All the formal writing and dialogue is part of Loki's character and perspective, so sorry if it's a bit heavy but that's how a Nordic prince would think, right?**

**The conversation at the end between Nico and Percy was more for me than anything, haha. **

**Anyway, this is chapter 15, and in all truth there are only 20 chapters of official character meetings. But there will be more than FIVE chapters left in this story. I'm planning on doing plenty of bonuses. I'm gonna write up a poll, maybe tomorrow or the day after, on my profile with a list of bonus chapters. **

_**GO TO MY PROFILE ONCE THE POLL IS UP IF YOU WANT TO LET ME KNOW YOUR FAVORITE BONUS CHAPTERS. I won't write them all, probably. So the highest ones win.**_

**Ahem. On another hand, the official characters remaining to be written are:**

How Loki Found Out

\+ Bonus of: Nick Meets Nico

\+ Bonus of: Nick Meets Thalia (maybe?)

\+ How Coulson Met Him &amp; Found Out (may or may not split this into two chapters)

and finally...

\+ How the Avengers Met Percy

**I'll try to get these out as fast as possible, but again, classes start on the 10th, I have a crazy hard first semester, and I'll do my best but make no promises. **

_**PROFILE. GO CHECK IF THE POLL IS THERE. IT SHALL MAKE A DIFFERENCE.**_

**Leave a review, favorite or follow! If your review is interesting and heartfelt I will most likely reply! I love talking with my reviewers about their stories and what they think about mine. I love you guys and your never-ending support :D**

**Whew. Long AN.**

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**On another hand: DO YOU LIKE ONE PIECE AND HARRY POTTER? If you do, check out my other story, a one-shot called 'Sword Smithing has always just been another type of magic'. For badass!Harry Potter and Mihawk fans. There is a sequel coming soon!**

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**UP NEXT: THE LONG AWAITED, MUCH ANTICIPATED (AT LEAST BY ME) AND PARTIALLY DREADED (AT LEAST BY ME) :**

HOW LOKI FOUND OUT

dun dun dun...


	16. Chapter 16 - How Loki Found Out

**AN - So, I'm back. Finally. Fall hit hard; I'm still floundering in the traces of all the work that was unloaded onto me at once, but I'm managing. Barely. So that's why this is so late. I actually only finished the chapter three days ago and it took me two days to type it up and half of yesterday evening and the last twenty minutes to edit. So, yeah. **

**Not super long, but it was 13 pages in my little notebook and 7 on Word, so about 3,000 words. I hope it's enjoyable.**

**Reviews are appreciated!**

**WARNINGS: Slash (duh), Evil!Loki etc.**

**I don't own any of the material you recognize here.**

* * *

**HOW LOKI FOUND OUT**

Loki was not rash. He planned and he schemed and he took every opportunity presented to him. He did not rush into battle recklessly like Thor and his warriors Three. He set his traps and learned about his enemies, weaving his deadly web long before the battle started.

Midgard's invasion was no different. Even with an army at his back, Loki was not going to abandon his tricks. Months before the date of the invasion, he punched a hole in the cosmos and appeared in a dirty back alley of a mortal city. He wore a glamour that shortened his hair and turned his features Asian and his eyes a dark brown. Unassuming and common; perfect to fit in with the bustling crowds of Norway.

Of course, Norway was only his landing point. With a quick bit of godly scrying, he was on his way to the director of SHIELD's quarters.

The best way to find the weak points of Earth's greatest defense was to take its strongest leader. With Nick Fury captured, he could see how the organization scrambled. Their panic would make it perfect for him to analyze their procedures.

Fury's abode was rather humble – a comfortable brick building settled among inconspicuous neighbours. The first two floors belonged to the director, and the top two to a reclusive author and a social service lawyer. With a quick bit of magic he slipped through the thin window panes like mist and alighted on the hard-wood floors.

The place had fairly good security, pinhole cameras whose feed remained within the house (no chance of someone hacking it) and the alarms and locks would keep most mortals out.

Loki was not a mortal, however, and he crept to the couch in the sitting room, where his target slept. It was midday, but Nick Fury must have been very tired because he slept heavily without any awareness. He did not stir as Loki leaned over his resting form, though that was because of Loki's handy cloaking trick. With a twisted smile, he waved his hand, and he and Fury both disappeared.

But, not in accordance to Loki's plans, another great power who had taken to watching over Fury stirred.

"Damn," Hermes said, staring down at the empty apartment, "Percy won't be happy to hear this."

* * *

True to Loki's heritage, he quickly settled himself in a place that was both remote and cold. With the aid of a few enchantments he secured his base, because while Antarctica might feel comfortable to him it could be deadly to him mortal captive.

Fury was bound to a great pillar of steel he conjured, and Loki contented himself with strengthening the wards against technology until he woke. The chocolate-skinned spy was a very still sleeper, aided by the minor spell he'd put on him, and the minutes before his awakening were as heavy as stone.

Several minutes after their arrival, the spell lessened, and something in Fury's primal mind registered that all was not well. He woke quickly, with only the opening of his eyes to give him away. He swept his gaze across the small cavern they were in, and stared at Loki when he'd located the (one) exit.

"Who are you?" asked the man, his voice raspy.

"Hmm," Loki said, eyes gleaming in the light cast by the one brazier he'd lit, "I'm sure you'd like to know that very much."

He saw the director's jaw clench, and amused himself with the thought of Fury's wrath being aimed at a fake identity. Giving the mortal the smirk that he knew infuriated everyone, he propped his chin on his fist. "And before you ask why I'm doing this – panic always reveals the weaknesses of every colony. I plan to take advantage of such a situation." Because there were always little things that Fury would not be able to fix before the invasion that would allow him to take SHIELD down easily.

The white of the man's eyes stood out wonderfully as he stiffened in shock.

* * *

Hermes' flight was quick and hurried – in moments he appeared at the front steps of Olympus. He made his way to the throne room's exterior courtyard, where a massive fountain to Poseidon was built. Not far away was the recently constructed black stone ornament garden for Hades' and beyond that he could see the faint shining of Aphrodite's mirror arrangement. The god's personal gardens were always quiet and were made only for the gods' and their children's use, though it was rarely occupied.

Today, however, was the day of Percy's monthly chat with his father. The two of them sat on benches constructed into the fountain, water streaming in small trenches by their feet and falling gracefully in a curtain around them. Their voices were slightly muffled by the trickle of water, but he could make out Poseidon's coarse laugh and the low murmur of Percy's words.

"Percy!" He called, alighting precariously on the edge of the marble basin. "Percy, it's urgent!"

"Hermes?" The water split open seamlessly without a touch and Percy's face became visible. "What's wrong?" His voice was held an edge of solemnity – he knew that Hermes didn't mess around with urgent messages.

"It's Nick," Hermes said, the wings at his heels fluttering anxiously. "Someone snatched him from the apartment, minutes ago." Percy stiffened and immediately stepped from the fountain. Hermes continued on with the important details without prompting. "It was a man, Asian descent, black hair, brown eyes, mid-thirties. He had magic, but I couldn't tell the origin; he had a wrap on it so it was impossible to sense any traces of unique signatures. I only got there after he snuck in, but I saw him teleport out."

"Do you know where he went? Can you trace his magic?" Percy said, rushing past him as he spoke.

"No, the wrap he had on blocked my senses, but if we can find Hecate she'll be able to find where he went to. Any and all magic on Earth and the Olympic planes not used by the Olympians themselves is in her domain, so she'll know (1)."

"Hecate?" said Poseidon from within the fountain. "But she won't answer you willingly – she hates all men."

Percy's eyes were dark as he made for the stables to saddle Blackjack. From there he could fly down and find a good ship and sail himself to Hecate's island. "Who said anything about willing?" he said, a grim look on his face.

After locating a well-made sail boat at the Bew York docks, Percy's journey to Hecate's island was quick. Because of the massive enchantments on the place the Olympians couldn't teleport him there without punching through a wall of magic as tough as bed rock and expelling a massive amount of energy, he had to rush his stolen boat through wind and wave.

Hecate was obviously not pleased at his arrival, but one look at the cold expression on his face and the sword levelled her way and she consented to searching out the man's magic. After several minutes she opened her eyes.

"I've found him," she said, "but I don't know who he is. His wrap on his magic is too strong for even me (2)." She looked disgruntled by the notion.

"Never mind that, where is he?" Percy demanded, already going for the door.

"Antarctica. Here's the coordinates."

* * *

Loki was feeling very pleased with himself. Everything was falling in to place: SHIELD was acting just as he'd predicted, scrambling and pulling connections as he gleefully watched through the shining ice he'd enchanted. It had taken them hours to realize that their director was missing; it wasn't until one of the few capable agents took notice that all of the messages sent to the man had gone, uncharacteristically, unanswered.

"You even work during your days off?" He asked, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He was sprawled comfortable on a smooth outcrop of ice, watching Fury try to contain his instinctive shivers at the cool air.

"There are no days off when you're saving the world," Fury said, valiantly managing to spit out the phrase without chattering teeth. Loki scoffed at the answer, rolling his eyes.

"How melodramatic. It's most amusing because you think it's true."

"Well, isn't it? You're here," the director said.

Loki hummed under his breath and refrained from saying anything. He would _love_ to tell this mortal about how helpless he was against some of the things in the realms. Should even one of those threats decide to converge upon Midgard then all mortal life would crumble before it, save a few select ones that weren't all mortal to begin with.

An example of that was the Chitauri, so it really was bad luck that Midgard just happened to be the most convenient place for him to take over. He would let them cling to their hope in the months left before his invasion, and let them think that he was just another magic user in the world with a grudge against SHIELD…

He felt something tug at the edge of his senses, and sat up to face it. The enchantments he'd set to conceal his presence and keep Fury alive in the cold trembled as a foreign presence drew near. It was moving speedily from the frozen waters to the east, approaching rapidly with a sense of malice hanging about it. A quick scan informed him that his intruder was not all mortal, powerful and somewhat familiar.

"Who could this be?" He asked himself.

He found out a moment later when the eastern-most wall of ice collapsed inwards in a spectacular burst of movement. A tall figure made its way through the hole, form deceptively loose as they held a sword at the ready.

"Why do you come, half-mortal?" He called, causing the man to turn towards him. His eyes widened minutely when he recognized the intense green eyes that were staring at him.

_Perseus Jackson_, his mind whispered. _Why was he here?_

Perseus raised a hand and swatted at nothing. For less than a moment Loki was confused, then a tremendous force slammed into him from behind. Tumbling head over heels, he gasped in surprise at the throbbing in his spine the attack had left him with. Another movement of Perseus' hand had him scrambling back as the wall of ice-cold water surged forward at his command.

He managed to steady himself and smashed apart the attacking wave with a pulse of magic. Another tendril came at him from the side, and he had to rend it completely to stop even the smallest of drops from attacking him. There was a rumble as the ground beneath his feet shook ominously, and he had to leap across the room to avoid the crack in the ice that suddenly snapped at his heels.

It just had to be the half-mortal with control over ice and water that found his Antarctic hide out. Frustrated with his ill luck, he sent out an invisible force that scored deep gouges in the ice, and caught Perseus neatly in the shoulder. The man grunted as blood splattered to the floor but didn't falter. There was a frightening light in his eyes as he advanced, like that of a dog of war.

Normally that wouldn't have been too much of a problem, but Loki had placed himself under limitations. He had to keep a wrap on his magic so as to stop the other godly powers on Midgard from sensing his identity. He also couldn't give away too many of his abilities, and still he had to give them the impression he was _somewhat_ mortal.

So Loki found himself floundering as a very powerful demigod advanced on him. In the minutes that had passed, Loki hadn't managed to wound Perseus a second time. The son of the sea god had, on the other hand, torn Loki's very comfortable jacket and cut deeply across his cheek, abdomen and thigh. He constantly had to dance about to avoid being impaled by the ice spikes that formed spontaneously. That probably aggravated him most of all – ice was supposed to _his_ element, damn it. His grasp on ice magics was still shaky, as he'd only learned of his Jotun roots recently. The presence of ice and cold empowered him (hence his choice of location) but it wasn't as easily mouldable for him as it was for Perseus. (3)

It was a bit sobering, for the god of Mischief and Magic to be beaten in his own element.

Fury watched it all in the only corner of the cave that remained untouched. Neither combatant wanted to do him harm – Perseus for obvious reasons, and Loki because if the mortal was killed and then replaced, SHIELD's procedures could change and make his info useless. Of course, in his quiet corner, Fury was not sitting helplessly. He wriggled furiously against the invisible force that kept him bound to the pillar, but managed only in getting ice chips up his pant leg and down his back. Loki sneered at the dark-skinned man, enjoying his struggles like a worm on a fish hook. His distraction was rewarded when he was slammed into the ice by a vicious wave, and the force of it knocked the breath from his fake-mortal body and left him dazed. He slumped helplessly, his traitorous body limp, and watched with wide eyes as Perseus stepped forward with dark eyes. With quick rush of power, he forced himself to be intangible, disappearing from the demigod's senses.

"Tch," Perseus scowled at the seemingly empty air, unable to locate the man he'd been fighting. "What a coward." He hurried over to Fury and snapped the magical bonds holding him tight. Loki watched them leave the cave, Perseus subtly looking over Fury for injuries and the chocolate-skinned man ignoring the other's hovering stoically.

_Why_ had Perseus appeared? How were the two connected? Did SHIELD know of the demigod's existence? No, he would have heard them discuss it then. So _how_…?

Loki needed a drink. And answers. Luckily, there seemed to be place where he could find both of those…

* * *

Loki reappeared in the mortal alley two weeks later, wearing a different face. His magic was wrapped differently this time, giving his separate identity credit, and he stepped into the busy streets with a mission on his mind. He was only a block away from the comfortable building that housed _The Golden Fleece_ – Perseus' bar. It was a few hours after sunset so the front door was brightly lit and the sound of laughter and talk rang over the front step. Loki cautiously pushed open the door and stepped into the warm room.

Perseus was there at the bar, smiling and working alongside a red-haired man who had the iron-flavoured aura of a child of Ares, but was obviously comfortable as he wasn't tensed for battle. He could be a problem should things degrade to blows…

Loki quietly stretched out his senses as he settled at the bar counter. The Ares child served him his drink, and the Norse god purposely did not look towards Perseus. He was confident in his disguise, and nervousness would only give him away.

After a moment of observing the beings he could sense within the building, he located Fury. The man was in the back area of the bar, a contented air about him. Loki had to guess that there was a couch or chair there because Fury was not a man who gave up his comfort.

There was a call from the back, the voice sounding vaguely like Fury's, and Perseus moved out of sight. With his still extended senses he could feel Perseus approaching Fury, warmth rolling off his aura. Fury's felt the same, though gruffer, but the two relaxed happily in the other's presence.

Curious, curious…

He finished his drink (it was enjoyable, for a mortal's creation) and slipped into the washroom. With yet another flex of his magic and a small crack in the existential planes, he slipped out of substance and phased into the back area of the bar.

He didn't know what he was expecting, honestly. He wouldn't have been altogether surprised to find that Fury and Perseus had become friends. They had experienced similar things, and had equal experience in fighting. Their strong opinions and selves complemented each other well. What was that Midgardian saying? _Birds of a feather flock together_.

Only Loki hadn't expected them to compliment the other so well. Or for them to be _that _together.

The scene he had walked – well, appeared – into nearly made him choke on his spit in shock. Perseus – saviour of Midgard from the hordes of dark Tartarus, the abominable spawn-pit that made even Asgardians shudder – was seated on Fury's lap, green eyes half-lidded and smoldering. The spy director had his hands on the Greek's hips and looked equally intense. They both had smirks on their faces, but despite the heated atmosphere seemed content to remain as they were.

Well. He hadn't anticipated _this_ kind of relationship. Turning in the air, he considered them and their soft murmurs. Mortals were strange creatures. The fates that ruled over them were ever so fickle, for these two from different worlds to meet.

It was a terrifying combination, really.

Maybe his plans needed some altering. It was best if he arranged a distraction for Perseus during the invasion, and if he avoided Fury more than originally planned…

Well, no one would call him out on it.

* * *

NOTES

(1) – Goddess of Magic and all.

(2) – Loki is a major god of a different mythological plane (Norse) while Hecate is the minor goddess of magic for the Olympic plane – and since the Olympians are strong, the rest of Earth is under her domain as well. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to trace him. That's why she can't pick up on who he is or what mythological plane he's from.

(3) – I figure that going from one form of existence and magic to another would be a disorientating process, and Loki would not get immediate control over his new powers. They'd naturally give him a boost but he wouldn't have fine-tuned control with his magics right away. Add on all the things he has to stop himself from doing to keep his identity secret (think recon, not attack mission), I think that Percy in his element is about equal to Loki with all his handicaps.

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**AN - All in all, pretty fun to write. I like Loki (a ton) and I like to think of him with some potential to be good, but for this fic he's a not-nice person. Percy got to smack in him about, which was fun. Poor Nick just wanted a nap on one of his few days off and look what happened to him now.**

**Don't know when the next chapter will be out, I'm still super busy, but I'll try my best.**

**Reviews are appreciated! They give me inspiration and the drive to write faster.**

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UP NEXT: Bonus of - Nick meets Nico or How Coulson Met Him &amp; Found Out

Let me know in your reviews which one you want first. I can't promise which one will come easier, but I'll try.


	17. Chapter 17-How Coulson Met Him&Found Out

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own, slash, swearing etc. **

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**HOW COULSON MET HIM &amp; FOUND OUT**

Funnily enough, it was Coulson who met Percy first. He had been in contact with the demigod long before any of his colleagues. One could even say that their first meeting hadn't even been that odd!

Well, it was slightly odd, and not quite the best of meetings either, but still. That was life.

It was a sunny Thursday morning and Coulson was happily taking the newest of the Tech Department's gadgets out for a spin – their recently created armoured computerized "spy" car. In reality it was named the FRI-16.79 Vehicular Unit or something similar, but Coulson and the other childishly excited agents were happy to call it the "Bond" car.

Now, as a senior and trusted agent, Coulson got to be the first to take it out for an urban drive. The sleek car purred softly as it rolled across the pavement, and the man enjoyed the sensation of power under his hands. The techies were chatting in his ear over the comm, discussing the data they were getting from the sensors.

"Okay, Coulson, try out the computer-controlled mode," said the senior researcher.

Coulson's finger hovered over the button, but he asked doubtfully, "Is it really a good idea to let it go computerized in a city? There're obstacles everywhere."

The researcher scoffed. "We've already run it through simulations; it works perfectly."

Of course that just jinxed it.

The first few minutes were fine, with Coulson warily eyeing the manual takeover button. It was just when he was starting to relax that it happened.

A firetruck, with sirens wailing, roared through the intersection behind them. The car, programmed in 'civilian' mode to move out of the way, sped up to clear the road. Of course, the programming stopped there and it continued to speed along, heading straight for a moving truck parked at the side of the road.

"Shit!" Coulson switched the modes and grabbed the wheel as quickly as he could, but he couldn't completely avoid the collision. He clipped the truck, enough that it shuddered and skidded a foot, and he groaned as he came to a halt a few meters away. "Simulations my ass," he growled, and undid his seatbelt. He climbed from the car and looked it over – at least the techies had done the armoring right because there wasn't much more than a small dent and a scratch on the paint.

"Hey!" called a voice from behind him. Coulson turned and saw a man in a green T-shirt and black pants standing next to the truck, arms crossed and scowling.

"I apologize for the inconvenience," Coulson said, stepping forward and pulling a textbook face of innocence distress. "My car's driving capabilities fell short and I wasn't able to avoid your vehicle. I'd be willing to cover any damage costs." _It'll be coming from those techies' pockets_, he thought as he sent a glance at the truck. He hoped that if anything inside had broken it was insanely expensive.

"You better be. These shipments of mine cost money and effort," the man said, turning back to the truck's contents. Coulson followed and winced when he saw the mess inside. Glass bottles were thrown about, most of them shattered and their strong-smelling liquids on the floor.

Coulson wrinkled his nose at the mess and silently grumbled over the fact that he had to wreck the goods of a _bartender_ of all people. Spilled alcohol was always so annoying to deal with. Picking up one of the unbroken bottles, he raised his eyebrow when he saw a completely unfamiliar label. _Bloody Spear Mescal_, _Ambrosia Brewery_ it read, with a red background and, unsurprisingly, a spear with small flames licking around it. Underneath were the slanted words '_Unique to the Golden Fleece' _and the little stamp that showed legal authorization. A glance across the street proved that a bar of the same name was pressed to the quiet street. Huh, it was an odd day if the alcohol truck he crashed into didn't even have _illegal_ alcohol.

"Is this of your make?" he asked, putting the bottle down.

"Yeah; it's my regular shipment from a brewery a friend gave me. It's pain in the ass because you can't order back up stock from anywhere." The man didn't look happy, but Coulson was pleased to note that he didn't seem angry with him.

He watched the man rearrange the last of the salvageable bottles in a basket, then pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "Here, write down your name and address and I'll get the company to reimburse you."

"Thanks." The man handed back the paper a moment later, and Coulson considered it as he walked back to his car.

"Percy Jackson," he said as he put the car in drive. "Interesting."

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Coulson returned to that homely bar several days later with an envelope of money to cover the damages to Percy Jackson's business. It was, of course, SHIELD's money (actually, the arrogant scientist's pay for the next month and a half) but it was disguised as a discreet accident insurance company, one that the spy agency had created for this very purpose.

The inside of the bar was as comfortable looking as the outside, with tasteful dark accidents and a warm atmosphere. Percy was there at the bar counter, working alongside a hostile-looking man with red hair.

"Good evening," Percy said as he took a seat at the counter. "Can I get you anything? The _Stiff Medusa Shots_ are on special, if you're waiting for friends, as well as _Hearth Cognac_ if you want something to warm you up."

"I'll just have," he scanned the list of specialty drinks (he recognized the drink from earlier, but mescal was too strong for him), "a glass of _Leopardali_, please." Some wine would do him good.

Percy moved efficiently and slid him his drink a moment later. It was a strange red-amber color, with black bubbles floating lazily to hover at the surface. Leopard indeed. Coulson hummed as he enjoyed the rich flavour of the liquor, and then extricated the envelope from his coat pockets.

"I don't know if you remember my face, but after the collision a few days ago my company came up with the compensation money and asked me to deliver it.

Percy accepted the envelope, and after a cursory glance at the address and stamp on it he put it in a cupboard under the counter. "Thanks," he said. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"It was none at all. On another topic, when was this bar opened? I don't come through this neighbourhood often, but a year or so ago it wasn't here."

"Yeah, I just started up recently."

As Percy spoke, Coulson's gaze wandered to the cabinet behind the counter - and the assortment of ornamental but definitely usable daggers hanging there, easily within the bartender's reach but just out that of any visitor.

_Interesting_, he thought again.

He returned to the bar the next week. And the week after that, and again…

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Months then years flew by, and Coulson maintained a firm friendship with Percy. They hit numerous rough patches (like that time Percy got attacked on a walk and displayed his fighting prowess, and that time he got pushed off a bridge and _didn't_ die when he hit the water, and when Coulson revealed his status as a spy when he tracked down what they thought was a bunch of vigilantes and accidentally put Percy and the group of huntresses at gun point) but they always laughed it off and carried on. It wasn't until one day when Nick dropped a recruitment mission folder on his desk and Percy's name was in it that things began to change.

"What is it?" The ever observant Nick noticed his pause immediately, but left him to it when the agent just shook his head.

_So Nick and Percy will finally meet_, he thought, rubbing his chin idly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cheer or cry – his two goods friends, both strong and with differing levels of paranoia; they could become allies.

Or, both strong and with differing levels of paranoia, they could rip each other apart.

It was an experiment worth conducting.

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Hours later, Coulson didn't quite know what to think. Percy and Nick had met, and while they hadn't clashed, they hadn't clicked either. It was like there was a sputter of _something_, like both were curious but too cautious to just leap forward like regular people.

When he caught sight of Nick testing the bottle of liquor Percy had handed over, he had to hide a smirk. Any other gift from any other unknown would have found its way into the garbage the minute Nick returned to his office. Instead the chocolate-skinned director sat at his desk, looking pleasantly befuddled at the fire the drink had left behind.

Coulson chuckled amusedly and made a silent bet with himself – if Percy and Nick developed… something (even just a close friendship) within the next year, he would treat himself with two more commemorative, limited edition Captain America trading cards. He was confident he'd be getting his prize – but the months passed, steady as always, and Nick, the insufferable spy he was, didn't give anything away. Nick was a strong and independent character – he wasn't one to gossip or talk about feelings and new developments. Coulson wouldn't be getting any news from him.

So he went to Percy. Mid-Sunday afternoon, before Percy would open the bar and the day before his new shipment, Coulson found himself at the front stoop of the comfortable home.

He knocked lightly on the door and called his friend's name. He shrugged when there was no answer and bent down to jiggle the lock. The enchantments Percy's more powerful 'friends' had placed were keyed to recognize him as a friend, so they didn't send out an alert or whisk him to some unknown dungeon, like that one unfortunate would-be thief. He shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. The kitchen and living room were empty, so he idly crept up the staircase to the second floor. He froze when his head cleared the railing and he caught sight of the open library area across from Percy's office and the bedrooms.

Laying there on the couch was Percy. He was wrapped around another man, who was frighteningly familiar. They were both still with sleep, bodies lax and breathing steady.

Percy Jackson was napping on his boss Nick Fury.

Coulson _really_ wanted to spontaneously start cackling. He was _right!_ He had predicted it, and was so looking forward to waving his newly-confirmed knowledge in Nick's face (along with his new trading cards).

But he couldn't randomly erupt into laughter, because both Percy and Nick were monsters when rudely awakened. So he did the next best thing.

He whipped out his phone and began to snap pictures. He was nearly a hundred percent certain that Percy's friends and godly watchers would love to see this scene, and no way was he going to miss out on this blackmail material.

There was a restless shift as the two sleeping men felt the devious aura radiating from Coulson. The spy quickly pocketed his phone and its incriminating evidence, and hurried from the apartment.

It was time to visit that pawn shop he'd been watching – he had to buy those Captain America cards before anyone else did…

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**DRINKS – guess who?**

_Bloody Spear Mescal – very strong; can be rough when it's not of the expensive variety._

_Stiff Medusa Shots - … obvious. Gives you goosebumps the first couple of shoot._

_Hearth Cognac – nice, warm and relaxing. It's always waiting at home for you. _

_Leopardali – Fine wine, great for refined parties, a pleasant red-orange with black bubbles near the top. It's someone's animal… (thanks to Finwitch1 for design with this one)_

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**AN - Tada. Kinda short but fun. Tell me, what next:**

**Bonus :How Nick met Nico; How Nick found out about Demigods; How the Avengers visit Camp Half-blood; Display of Percy's demigod prowess etc.**

**Final real chapter \- How the Avengers Met Percy - bonus chapters will just be posted after.**

**-Bonus chapters will probably written in groups of shorts, so two or three ideas grouped into one posting. Feel free to request, I'll try if it interests me.**

**Tell me in a review; leave me an alert and favorite. Love everyone's support so far. **

**Guess the drinks too.**


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